


Lifelong Learning

by uncajerf



Category: Original Work
Genre: Anal Sex, Bestiality, Consensual Underage Sex, Exhibitionism, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, F/F, F/M, Gay Sex, Group Sex, Incest, Lesbian Sex, M/M, Multi, Nudism, Oral Sex, Other, Voyeurism, Watersports
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-17
Updated: 2020-01-14
Packaged: 2020-01-15 14:47:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 36
Words: 56,678
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18501178
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/uncajerf/pseuds/uncajerf
Summary: INTRODUCTION: This is a series of stories detailing my varied sexual escapades over the years; I'll leave to your imagination what is true or pure fantasy, although I can assure you that all are based on real events.PLEASE NOTE: I DO NOT ENDORSE OR CONDONE ANY SPECIFIC ACTIVITY IN MY FICTION, INCLUDING ANY PARTICULAR SEXUAL ACT, ANY MORE THAN I WOULD CONDONE OR PERPETRATE VIOLENCE OR MURDER.





	1. Only Sitter in Town - Pt 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Major character introductions._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TAGS: _No sex; explicit language; all participants are fictional or of age to be involved in consensual sexual activity._

When I was a teen I lived in a very small town. My parents were quite well known and had many friends, and soon I was enlisted as pretty much the town's only babysitter, albeit I don't know how more than a few couples went partying on a given night when I babysat for only one of them, but whatever; maybe there were more sitters than just me?

In any case, I had several regulars, including the Lowells, with a five-year-old girl, three-year-old boy, and, later, a baby girl; then there were the Ramseys, who had a baby girl; an older couple, the Sykeses, had a four-year-old boy and yet another baby girl (yes, I took care of a lot of infants, including diapers and the works!); while the Kirbys had a brood of several girls: two, four, and about six; finally, the Waynes' kids were a boy, nine, and a girl, eleven (both not a lot younger than me at the time!).

Since they were relatives, I started with the Lowells, but as far as I recall, nothing much happened the first few times I sat for them; at the time I didn't have a girlfriend, either. However, at the Sykes' place I began my education.

They had a stash of porn – several, in fact – that I found under the sink in the bathroom and in a linen closet in the hall (in their bedroom, too, but I wasn't brave enough to go in there, yet). Let me first say that Mrs. Sykes was fucking fine; long blonde hair and fairly petite, but with curves that would straighten Lombard Street. Naturally I fantasized about her, especially since she dressed in extremely risqué outfits for the size of our town: daring yellow miniskirts and low-cut blouses that I'm certain illustrated at least size D for me quite well, although of course I had no clue at the time.

I now know that they were probably going out to swinger parties; my first hint should have been the books I found under the sink – trashy pulp novels – portraying B&D with gangbangs and orgies. Naturally this was the first time I had imagined such a thing, let alone read about it, so _you_ can imagine how I felt after poring through this stuff. I vividly recall one scene in particular, where a woman was tied up in a rope swing and gangbanged by five guys; I can almost still read the words regarding how she felt about having, "a cock in her pussy, one in her ass, one in her mouth, and one for each hand". Fuck!

Later, I also found their stash of dirty mags in the closet, and was busily perusing these one night when I heard noises from the bathroom. I got up to find their son (of three-or-four, you'll recall) in his jammies with almost the entire contents of his sexy mother's makeup drawers scattered all about, happily painting his face with her bright red lipstick. I'm sure I made some exclamation, and then found towels or something to clean him up before sending him back to bed. He'd inked up his jammies as well, though, so I found a clean pair and changed him. Interestingly, his little pecker was circumcised, and I'd rarely seen such a thing – but I refrained from checking it closer (even though I could have, but that would come later). The kid was talking by then, but wasn't very intelligible – to me – because he said something about, "zezzy plays", which I didn't understand.

I then tried to tidy up the bathroom, but it was hopeless; compacts and eyeliners and myriad esoteric stuff (to a 13-year-old boy) were mangled and smeared everywhere – counters, mirror, walls... Anyway, I tried to clean up that mess too, but didn't do a very good job, I'm sure; and I left all the makeup, because I hadn't the faintest idea what was what and what was salvageable.

I confessed on the way home with Mr. Sykes what had happened. He didn't say much this time, but I guess I needn't have been worried that they wouldn't hire me anymore and their stashes were lost to me forever, because next time, on the way to his place, he gave me a stern lecture about keeping an eye out, as I was supposed to do, and not get distracted, "reading comics."

"Not comics, I was reading your mag—" I immediately regretted my further confession, but, as it turned, should not have. I'm sure I blushed to my toenails, but was also too embarrassed to look at Mr. Sykes; I wish now I had seen what he may have been thinking.

In any event, I went in to find Mrs. looking hot as ever, and all thoughts of guilt over the 'accident' fled, as I checked her out again; it appeared she had replenished her makeup supply, and once more applied it to heart-stopping effect. They left, and much to my delight, they hadn't moved their stashes. Still, I felt too guilty and nervous that they might come back and catch me, though I couldn't say whether I was more worried about being caught looking at porn or not looking after their son. Both, I suppose.

The next (memorable) time with the Sykeses would have to wait, though, because I got my first sexual experience some time later, at the Lowells'.

I should tell you a couple things before getting there, though. For one, this may have been the first time I'd found and read dirty magazines – I don't remember the exact order of events – but I found others, including my dad's stash and some in a dilapidated cabin my friends and I used as a 'fort', as well as a huge pile that were tossed into the dumpster by the hotel I worked for as a busboy/dishwasher (I realize now they were unsold; the covers were torn off to be returned for credit).  I didn't care that they had no covers; the interior – articles, of course – were far more titillating. Anyway, I hid a number of the more explicit ones, and brought a few softcores back home, and actually presented them to my dad (I knew he had similar ones, but not the full extent of his collection). He kind of smiled at my mother, who looked at me strangely, and took them, neither said anything then.

The second thing I need to tell you is that, odd as it may seem for a pubescent boy, I still did not know how to masturbate properly. I would soon get a lesson from a most unlikely source, however.


	2. Only Sitter in Town - Pt 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _See Pt 1 for setup. I learn how wicked little girls can be, and, not coincidentally, how to masturbate._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TAGS: _Masturbation; first time; exhibitionism; voyeurism; young; m/g; m/b; all participants are fictional or of age to be involved in consensual sexual activity._

It happened the next time I sat for the Lowells, but I should go back a bit. I remember shortly after these relatives moved here from out of town, a day when my parents and theirs sat in our living room while I play-wrestled with their little daughter – clothed this time, she in a short skirt – on the shag carpet (Google it, GenX-Yers-and-later!). Since I thought it only right to let her 'win', Carrie ended up on top of me.

"Ha ha, now I'm sitting on your face!" she chortled, tiny panty-clad cunny indeed planted firmly, smelling of little girl pee and other, unidentifiable odours.

I froze, not know what to do as she began moving erotically back and forth over nose, mouth, chin, expecting that her parents or mine would pull her off instantly. They didn't, and I recall now that I heard some chuckling as, mortally embarrassed, I wriggled out from under her, though she did her best to keep herself in the saddle. "Mmmmph!" was all I managed to vocalize.

The little girl giggled, and I heard amused snickering, but I don't know what else happened or what was said as I slunk out of there. Turns out that incident was nothing, though.

Carrie and her little brother, Toby, were in the habit of running around half- or fully nude, but only at home, or so I'd ever seen. Now, I was not unused to that; I should clarify that my parents are actually two set of parents: my dad and stepmother, who had custody of me, and my mom and stepfather, who had custody of my three younger brothers and two little sisters (don't ask – yet; it's complicated). We were all essentially nudists, and pretty much uninhibited when it came to exploration of our bodies and experimentation; but that's several stories I will get to soon. Just know that I moved in with my dad and stepmother about a year earlier, after spending a couple of summers here with my sister closest in age (17 months younger than me) – also a few more stories I'll tell you eventually.

Anyway, Carrie and Toby regularly played some kind of naked tag game that usually ended up with Carrie yanking Toby's stubby pecker, naturally causing the little boy to shriek and burst into tears.

"Carrie's pulling Toby's dickie again," one parent would report to the other, and another stern lecture would follow to the impishly grinning little girl – who didn't appear at all abashed. The kids were also singularly uninhibited when I would bathe them both at once, but then, aren't all small children unselfconscious about nudity – at least their own?

One time after I'd bathed them before bed and was drying off their cute little naked bodies, trying NOT to pay particular attention to any part over another, I got a wicked thought and decided to have my own bath, right in front of them. You probably guessed that most of my siblings and I regularly bathed and skinny-dipped together, but this gradually tapered off as we got older and entered 'body-conscious' prepubescence. Thus I stripped, only a little self-consciously, as they watched, both fascinated, although I don't think either of them said anything. I got at least a partial erection, and they continued to stare as I dried myself, paying careful attention to my stiffening, uncircumcised member and getting more aroused as I teasingly waggled it in front of their round-eyed little faces. After they watched me dress, I took them each to their rooms, telling Carrie to get into her pjs and then to bed as I dressed Toby. I managed to get a little rub in on his tiny prick (I didn't understand the difference between cut and uncut, probably partly why I was intrigued), but didn't dare go any further, and the boy didn't react beyond a beatific smile as I tucked him in. I don't know what Carrie was doing meantime, but when I came into her room she stood there, still nude, looking at me, jammies nowhere in sight.

"Get into your peejays," I told her. She shook her curly red head and stuck her thumb in her mouth, which even then I thought an odd thing for a child her age to do. Sighing, but secretly relishing the opportunity, I found a set in her drawers and began to dress her for bed, this time getting in several long, slow strokes of a finger up along her appealing girl-crease.

Carrie, thumb in mouth, huge green eyes staring at me, didn't react beyond small sounds of contentment – whether having to do with the comfort of thumb-sucking or as a result of what I was doing, I couldn't tell. In any case, I dared not go any further with her, either, and managed – this time – to get her jammies on and into bed.

Fast forward a bit to another adventure at the Lowells', and once again trying to get Carrie to bed. I still (obtusely) didn't realize that the wicked little strumpet was deliberately baiting me by refusing to get into her nightwear (and that they usually didn't wear any, like my family). Even though I stroked her delectable little slit once more, she wouldn't less me dress her. This time I collapsed on my back on her bed, feet on the floor, in mild exasperation.

Instantly the naked little imp was up between my legs, fumbling at my zipper and belt. She got my zipper down okay (practise, I guess), but had trouble with the belt. Still somewhat confounded by what was happening, I felt I shouldn't help, but was intensely curious – and aroused, I admit – thinking about where this might go.

"There's your dickie!" she shouted, pulling my stiffening prick awkwardly – and a little painfully – from my underwear.

Vaguely, I noted that Toby had joined us at the side of the bed, pajama bottoms down so he could play with his own miniscule member. In the meantime, Carrie began intensely concentrating on my cock, which naturally responded as any pubescent teen's would, by swelling to its not immodest proportions. Now, I'm not sure whether it was cocks in general that fascinated the little girl, or mine in particular, having a little pubic hair by now as well; I liked to think the latter, albeit I would be somewhat deflated, so to speak, on an occasion still to come.

Carrie grabbed my cock in both little fists, stroking it as she gasped, wide-eyed as it continued to swell to full sail. She seemed most intrigued by how my foreskin worked, if not the size et al., as she used all her fingertips on my shaft to work it up and down, hiding and uncovering the straining purple head, hovering over it like a mother bird feeding her chicks. Of course it didn't take much of this before I shot a small jet of clear-ish stuff directly into the startled little girl's face. Releasing me as I groaned, she leapt back, Toby shouting something as I quickly scrambled from the bed past him to the bathroom; in my ignorance I thought I was pissing. The kids followed.

Carrie, the harlot, knew exactly what it was (though I didn't stop to think, just then, how that could be). "I made you cummie!" she shrieked, even as she wiped mine off her face – and actually licked it from her palm!

I vainly tried to empty the rest of my 'pee' into the toilet, partial comprehension slowly dawning on me.

"Cummie, cummie!" Toby repeated, jumping up and down clad only in pajama top. Carrie stuck a cum-coated finger in his mouth, which he sucked like candy.

Fascinated by these children's erotic behavior, I now realized, from the pulp novels, that I had indeed ejaculated for what I thought was the first time (as I didn't yet connect wet sheets and nocturnal emissions). I only knew, then, that I was once more mortified that we would be caught, so I hushed the kids and hustled them to bed, after cleaning up what remained of any 'evidence'.

I probably don't need to mention that I did not consider, at the time, what should now be obvious to most readers: that these children had been instructed, coached, indoctrinated... whatever you want to call it; even 'abused', if you must, although they hardly seemed reluctant or traumatized in any way. At least I now knew how to jack off – which I began to do with more or less 'normal' regularity.


	3. Only Sitter in Town - Pt 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _See Pts 1 &2 for setup. I'm introduced to pee play by three more uninhibited divas._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TAGS: _Watersports; first time; exhibitionism; voyeurism; young; m/g/g/b; all participants are fictional or of age to be involved in consensual sexual activity._

I mentioned that my parents had split; although I didn't know then why, I can tell you now that it had a lot to do with our respective lifestyles, and the fact that my dad and stepmother believed in more rigorous training and hands-on sex education than my mother and stepfather, who were quite relaxed when it came to nudity and aforementioned experimentation, but drew the line at more explicit sex-play, a least before perhaps age 10-12-or-so. As to what is 'right', I will not offer my opinion here; the reader may infer – or not – from what I write and the way I slant things, concluding whatever they wish from my experiences and the fact that I remain, at least in my opinion, a 'normal' senior male of the species, with much to offer in the way of advice and example, to take as one might care to do so.

Now, back to my story.

I should clarify that the whole 'pj play' thing was another way to slowly introduce me to the lifestyle of my stepmother's family; Mr. Lowell is her brother. Entering body-shy adolescence, and in a new school etc., I had grown out of the practice, but, as nudists themselves, and with small children who were – I suppose you could say, 'bait' – they decided they needed an excuse for me to get close to them, by enticing me to not only bathe them but help them dress for bed – which they didn't, normally, of course. I suppose they thought that anything more overt would have scared me off, or... I don't know.

Anyway, eventually they ceased the tease, as it was no longer necessary. But it took another, rather more explicit enticement, to take another step toward 'all the way'.

This involved more relatives of my stepmother's; cousins or something, I don't quite remember. They came to visit only a couple of times that I recall, with their three kids: Samantha, 11; Grace, 9; Danny, 6. Although I'm guessing at exact ages and names, and ignoring the fact that I sat for them only twice, they are rather memorable.

The first time I babysat them, their parents and mine were hardly out the door when the eldest girl, Sam, whipped off her top. She had nothing to show off yet, but apparently still felt the need to tease. She and her siblings looked at me, the latter with big grins as though anticipating my reaction, Sam with a rather coquettish expression I had never seen but in magazines – on much older girls, naturally.

I didn't know what to say, so kept my silence to see where this would go. Sam began to prance around, and I wondered if I was about to be treated to a strip show. Sure enough, the other two began to sing something tuneless and cavort about the living room, both soon losing their shirts as well. By now the nudist thing had come back into my mind (and elsewhere), so I figured this must be normal – although why they waited for their parents to leave first, left me reluctant to assume much else.

Blonde, somewhat chunky Sam continued the peeler act, getting all the way out of her blue panties before Grace, tiny with long dark hair, took centre stage, as it were, and carried on to full nudity as well. Littler brother Danny, also with straight yet short dark hair, didn't seem to have the act down pat yet, and was naked before his sisters, all the while shouting and prancing about, doubtless trying to draw my attention. Well, they had it, the shameless nymphs, and I felt I could do nothing but sit, in part to relieve the growing stiffy in my pants, as well as to hide it.

Our parents had obviously heard the commotion – doubtless hanging about knowing what was about to happen; their mother stuck her head back in the door (out of sightline downstairs), to shout, "Hey, keep it down, you lot! And put your clothes back on before I get back."

Although, much to my disappointment, that put an end to the show, the kids looked neither ashamed or guilty, nor did they get dressed. Still, they seemed to lose interest in teasing me that way, and drifted off to normal kids' activities. I, however, didn't lose interest in them, except that I couldn't concentrate on TV or comics or whatever I was doing, and had to go to the bathroom to jack off, because I'm sure they deliberately pointed their pert little bare asses toward me on hands and knees while playing on the floor.

And didn't the little minxes know exactly where I'd gone, perhaps even why, as they almost immediately came after me, rattling the locked doorknob and shouting, "We have to go pee! Let us in!"

Although my zipper was down as I'd been fishing for my cock, sitting on the lidded toilet, I hesitated only a moment before deciding that discretion was the better part of horniness; if they indeed had to pee, and I didn't let them in and they had an accident, I would be cleaning it up. Reluctantly, I stowed my aching equipment and, hunched over, opened the door. All three naked imps crowded in, looking straight at my crotch, that I was trying to casually hide with an arm, seemingly disappointed at not 'catching' me at anything.

"Go pee, then," I groaned.

Sam put the seat down and climbed onto the toilet, spreading her chubby legs so I had a full view of her fleshy pink cunny as she loosed a brief yellow stream that reduced to a trickle, then a couple squirts before a drop or two, one remaining suspended like a tiny yellow gem. All the while I could feel her stare, then glanced up to see the wicked little half-smile, a hint of a question in her sparkling blue eyes.

"You have to wipe her now," Grace instructed. "Then my turn."

Danny jumped up and down, clapping. "My turn, my turn!"

"No!" Grace responded, pushing him a bit. "Me first."

Danny continued his antics and yelling while the girls stared at me expectantly. When I looked back, I could swear Sam had spread her legs farther, little pussy still wide and dripping. Shaking a bit, and squirming uncomfortably at my bulge and consequent posture, I took a step and a swatch of toilet paper, brushing it lightly across her tiny vulva and quickly dropping it in the toilet.

"That's not enough!" Grace, obviously the choreographer, grabbed a wad of tp. "Like this." Carefully, yet a little longer than I thought should be necessary, drew it up and down along her big sister's splayed pink cunt lips. That done, she pushed Sam off, climbing up herself and staring to pee before she even got properly seated. This caused the first stream to splash the toilet seat and floor, but all the kids laughed, even as Grace lifted herself up and, tilted slightly to one side, spread her own cunny wide with one hand, the other on the sink keeping her balance. A strong jet of piss splashed into the toilet, again tapering and dripping like her sister.

"I wanna pee! I wanna pee!" Danny went on.

"Wait! Now wipe me," Grace directed.

"All right.... Umm... Quiet down," I remonstrated. This time I thought I did a good job of wiping the smaller girl; she made a couple sounds of either contentment or approval. I also cleaned up the spillage.

Danny began to climb up as soon as she vacated the perch, but Grace pushed him back, slamming the seat upright. "No! Pee like a boy, like mamma said!"

Her brother began to cry, in part perhaps because he stumbled into the side of the tub when pushed, but mostly, I thought, due to being denied his preference.

"You have to help him," Grace further coached.

"Uhhh... I... Stop crying." I checked Danny for injury; he had none.

"Like this." Grabbing one thin arm, she pulled her brother up against the toilet, grasping his little pecker between two fingers of the other hand and aiming. His sniffles ceased as he concentrated, grunting as his own little stream at first dribbled and then jetted in an arc that Grace took delight in waving to and fro, causing more spillage that, despite my having to clean up, I found curiously erotic, as all the kids giggled.

For the remainder of the brief two hours or so, the kids played normally, albeit they did not get dressed before parents arrived home. Yet this seemed of no consequence, even as they were told to do so in preparation for leaving.

Which left me rather confused and uncertain, until the next time.


	4. Only Sitter in Town - Pt 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _See Pts 1-3 for setup. More pee play._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TAGS: _Watersports; exhibitionism; voyeurism; young; m/g/g/b; all participants are fictional or of age to be involved in consensual sexual activity._

I believe some other stuff happened before the next time with these visitors, but I'll go there anyway, since events are a little jumbled in my memory, and the exact order of many don't especially matter.

Sam, Grace, and Danny came over again, and this time stripped the instant they got over the threshold. Their mother watched as they streaked – literally – upstairs into the living room for the toybox, shouting and giggling. Glancing at me, she shrugged, a certain gleam in her blue eyes. She very much resembled her elder daughter, being blonde and even chunky, albeit sporting curves her offspring naturally couldn't boast as yet. I scoped out her properties, noting bigger boobs than Mrs. Lowell's pushing up through a braless green tank top, giant nipples pointing at me. Shrugging solid, nearly bare shoulders, ogled goodies jiggled, and my dick twitched. "Oh well, what can you do." It didn't sound like a question to me. "Be good, you lot. We won't be long."

Adults headed out the door, kids remained occupied with their play, while I sat and tried not to watch their cute little butts and crotches, whenever they bent over or sat spread-legged. I must have started reading the same comic five times, shifting about uncomfortably and moving my swollen dick around in my pants before I gave up and headed to the bathroom again. Of course they all followed me.

"Peepee, peepee!" Danny yelled, dancing again.

I hadn't realized that pissing was a team sport; I just hoped that shitting wasn't, as I'd read some gross stuff in one of the Lowells' books...

I cleared my throat. "All right. This time I'm not cleaning up after you little anklebiters, so get in the tub."

Curiously, this engendered more shrieks of delight, as all three small, naked asses climbed into the bathtub. I began to close the shower curtain, but Grace stopped me. "You have to warm it!"

"Wh-What do you mean?"

"Water, dummy! Warm up the tub so it's not cold."

"Oh." I supposed the porcelain was cold on tiny bare feet, so dutifully turned on the taps and adjusted the flow till it was warm, splashing it toward the back of the tub. My intent had been to warm up all its bottom surface, but of course I splashed little legs, which incited another round of shrieking and barefoot stomping and splashing.

"Hey, cut it out!" I was getting wet, as well as the bathmat, floor... "That's why I'm closing the curtain."

"But you gotta come in too!" Grace informed me, as if it should go without saying.

"I... uhhh..."

"And put the plug in."

I'd started shutting off the taps; readjusted them. "All right." I put the stopper in place, intending to fill the tub a few inches.

"Peepee, peepee!" Danny actually laid down on his back, feet under the spout. "EEeee!" he shrieked. "Cold!"

"You should have waited," I scolded.

I noted his little pecker standing straight up its full inch-or-so; thought of fondling it, but, expecting him to begin pissing, I started as a stream of yellow splashed his chest, penis, legs; glanced up in shock to see Sam, bow-legged above his face, fingers of both hands splaying her cunny wide as her flow leaked out all over giggling brother. No sooner had she finished than Grace followed suit, all three laughing as if watching the funniest cartoon ever.

"Your turn!" Grace laid in place of Danny, who immediately stood up and started stomping around.

"Stop!" I grabbed an arm, which caused him to wince and whine. "Sorry. But don't splash everywhere –you're making a mess."

It seemed a non-issue anyway, as Sam laid down opposite her sister when I shut the water off, the level not even rising to cover bare little slits. Four little-girl legs now resembled two pair of entwined fleshy scissors as their brother stood between them; not much room left for splashing.

"You have to go too!" I began to resent Grace's bossiness, but couldn't deny the appeal of the suggestion, or the situation.

"Peepee, peepee!" yelled Danny, bouncing at the knees.

I got naked, but saw no way to comfortably get in with them. "Uhh..."

"Peepeeeeeeeeeee!" Danny loosed a stream that looked like it had been saved for some time; no wonder he'd been bouncing.

As his warm yellow piss splashed one sister then the next, the chortling reached new levels.

"HAHAHAHAHAHAHA!"

I couldn't help it. Despite a half-hardon, I managed a decent stream that splattered against the little boy's tummy and crotch, flowing in rivulets down his legs into the water where his sisters kicked, screeching, "ME! ME!" I obliged, emptying my bladder all over them to shrieks and giggles. The kids splashed and played with the piss, stroking it over their own little bodies and each other's. I couldn't help it; I got hard immediately and splattered them with another tribute, though they didn't even seem to notice.

"All right," I said, a little out of breath. "Stand up, now... we have to rinse off."

Of course all three complained, loudly, wanting continued play, but I told them their parents would be back soon, and they had to dry off. I turned on the shower, reveling in even closer contact with three small naked bodies; naturally, they couldn't keep still, and made constant contact with my still-aching, erect cock. Yet they didn't seem to notice that, either, and though I yearned to stroke out another one, all over smooth young skin, I refrained.

Perhaps it was just as well, since we had no sooner gotten out and I'd managed to help dry three little naked bodies than our parents came home. They streaked from the bathroom, yelling all over one another in their haste to report what we'd just done! Although I had a reasonable feeling that this wasn't unusual – the children had pretty much initiated all of it – I had a moment of uneasiness and then serious doubt that quickly led to near-panic as I hurriedly dressed and locked the bathroom door. I half-expected any second to have at least four irate adults and police and even the mayor (I babysat for him too) pounding on the door.

I didn't happen.


	5. Only Sitter in Town - Pt 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _See Pts 1-4 for setup. I seek anatomical lessons and receive further jerk-off instruction._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TAGS: _Exhibitionism; voyeurism; masturbation; young; m/inf-g; F/m; all participants are fictional or of age to be involved in consensual sexual activity._

I don't know what happened to those relatives – I don't even remember their names for sure. All I do recall is that they had some kind of accent, and they were either from Australia – my stepmom's homeland – or maybe England.

I went back to the Sykes' and Lowells', but interspersed with those regulars I had stints with the Ramseys and another couple whose names I can't remember and don't matter because nothing much happened there. Each had an infant, the Ramseys a daughter, the others a boy, but the couple with the boy always had him in bed by the time I arrived, and as far as I recall, he never woke, so I had nothing to do. Which is of course the best time to go snooping for porn.

Technically, I didn't find any there, but the reason I remember them is because they did have some rather explicit encyclopedias (remember, younger readers, this is an era long before the internet was even a notion), in which I got a pretty good anatomical education, including all internal female workings showing exactly where babies came from as well as how they're made. All hand drawn, of course, but still, it illustrated the description and lecture I'd received from my mother a couple years earlier (at the same time as my sister, which germinated a tale I will relate in due course). I believe they were the ones who also had _The Joy of Sex_ , a brand new, and quite controversial for its time, sex manual. Altogether far more valuable than the couple of silly films we sat through in school (much too late to satisfy our family standards in any case).

This once more left me with a burning curiosity – as well as horniness, but I'm sure you can guess what I did about that – and so I proceeded to seek every opportunity to match as many live examples as I could with the illustrated material I'd seen, if not put into practise as much as possible.

I'm somewhat ashamed to admit that the first thing I did was examine the baby girl I mentioned previously. I felt so guilty and afraid of being caught 'molesting' her, that I first closed every drape and even checked that no one hovered outside any window, just waiting to bust me. Then, when I changed her diaper on the floor, I spread her tiny vulva, inspecting everything I'd seen in the books, albeit only visually; otherwise I didn't touch her except to spread her apart. She writhed and crawled away from me a couple of times, but I grabbed her and turned her over, resuming my inspection so I could identify not only vulva but inner and outer labia, vagina, and clitoris. I was also curious about where the pee came from, but she was so tiny – even though her parts were larger that the scale drawings I'd closely perused; plus, she kept wriggling away – I couldn't fully complete my exam. Not that I would ever be 'done' examining female or male anatomy – but I digress. Finally, catching her one last time – she never squealed or even whimpered once, or I probably wouldn't have proceeded – I diapered her, questions and images still floating around in my head.

Not long after this episode, I sat for the Sykeses again, and my education took off. I have no doubt now that there was collusion between them and my dad and stepmother, because, although nothing was ever 'confessed', later on I became convinced that the incident I am about to relate had been set up by them all, not only because of how it started, but I doubt it could have been accomplished without mutual knowledge, if not cooperation.

Anyway, when I arrived at the Sykes' with Mr., he bade me goodbye as well as, "Have fun!" in an odd tone, and drove off – without Mrs. Sykes. I thought nothing much of it – she must already be wherever they were going – and went inside.

Since I was a very conscientious babysitter (never mind; that makeup incident notwithstanding), I went to check on their son and, by now, baby daughter, assuming they were in bed. The boy was not in his bed or room, and so I went to see if he was sleeping in his parents' room with his sister, whom had inherited his crib (from which he should not have been able to escape, to set off the makeup incident!).

I stopped short in the doorway. Unable to recall in which order my jaw hit the floor, stomach smacked the ceiling, or cock leapt in my pants, I can only say that I stood there, staring at Mrs. Sykes, sitting buck naked on the bed, blonde hair trailing over shoulders just above her breasts.

If I thought her tits were spectacular covered... well, let's just say I didn't meet her eyes until she spoke my name probably for about the fourth or fifth time.

"Come... sit here by me." She patted the bed next to her, which I vaguely recall had towels or blankets atop the comforter. I felt, rather, that my knees would give way; blackness closed in about me, shrinking to a tunnel ending at her petite, curvy nakedness sitting otherwise demurely, bare ankles crossed. She smiled. "Biting comes later. Come."

I had no idea what she meant, but wobbled over; sat rather awkwardly.

"Mmmm," she appraised. "Gloria wasn't wrong; looks like you're sporting quite a package there, handsome."

Actually, I was only somewhat above average, at 7" and not terribly thick, but had early on acquired near my 'full growth' there. And my stepmother, Gloria, had reason to know, because she'd checked me out shortly after we met that first summer (as well as plenty of opportunity during naked campouts etc. in ensuing years). I recall her outside the slightly ajar bathroom door, me standing naked in a small washtub of warm water, soaping myself with a washcloth (our house was under construction and we had no running water yet). "Make sure you peel back your tail and wash there," she advised.

 _My tail?_ Confused, I inspected my person.

"You do have skin there, on your tail? I think you do."

Still early summer, quite far north in Canada, it was not yet skinny-dipping and nudism weather, so she'd not seen me nude yet.

I thought she meant my ass, so dutifully spread my cheeks and started in with the cloth.

"Like your father."

 _What? But everyone has an ass..._ I was thinking.

"Can I see?"

Though I felt somewhat self-conscious, having recently acquired a skiff of hair etc., our family was not that shy; still, we'd barely met, and I don't even recall if I acceded before she came in.

Now, my stepmom was only about 21-22 at the time – maybe ten years my senior – and quite pretty; reddish hair and freckles, tanned and otherwise average in height, bust, etc. Yet I hardly knew her, so didn't feel a hundred percent comfortable naked around her yet. My cock felt right at home, however.

"Hmmm," she observed. "Yes, as I thought... Your tail." Clarified, "Penis."

 _OH!_ As if preening at the attention, my member twitched and rose a little more. Now I felt embarrassed; turned away.

Mom left; I thought I heard chuckling... with an odd tone.

In any case, this recalls another incident when we had the weather and were practising nudists again, and I passed her in the house at the sink on the way to the toilet, both of us nude. Perpetually at half-mast, like all boys my age, she quipped something about, 'learning to control that,' as if it were just so simple – which I'm sure she knew, as well as how commenting on it would only amplify the effect. Unsurprisingly I had difficulty peeing, and she finally finished brushing her teeth or whatever, and left – though not without another throaty laugh as I watched her pert tanned ass swish away.

So, back to my present tale.

"Would you like me to help you out with that?" Mrs. Sykes asked.

Dumbly, I stared at her tits; looked away.

"You can look. That's what I'm here for." She cupped them for me, tweaked pink nipples; I nearly lost it in my pants. Noticing, she said, "Wait, wait... not yet."

Let me tell you that an adult woman reaching for my zipper and undoing my belt, then pulling out my dick in an unquestionably sexual situation, is an entirely different feeling to when a five-year-old does the same in an attitude of curiosity (whether there's anything overtly sexual about exploration at that age is a matter for debate). It's a wonder I didn't cum before she'd wrested it free.

"Uhummm... Nice. You can touch me... wherever you want." She parted her legs slightly – and I saw no hair, twisted in place for a closer look.

"UUUUUHHH!" She barely had time for a couple of investigative fingertip strokes when a jet of cum arched right over my head, a splatter decorating my cheek, another my shoulder.

Laughing in her sexy, low voice, Mrs. Sykes aimed the rest at herself, though not a lot remained (too much spanking the monkey...). "That's all right. We'll take care of it." She milked me, remaining cum trickling over her hand as she assumed a full grip, jacking slowly. I came again, even less this time, but her laugh was genuine – and oh, so erotic!

Doubtless she expected me not to last, thus sat ready with towels and further instruction.

I suppose that was the start of my fetish for shaved pussy (as well as cinching a predilection for hand-jobs). Don't get me wrong; I like them hairy as well, although not as if a baby bear were trying to hide there. It's the reverse novelty, I surmise, and it also explains why I am attracted to bare pussy, no matter to what age it may belong. Further explication is still to come.


	6. Only Sitter in Town - Pt 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _See Pts 1-5 for setup. I show off to a curious little girl, and pontificate on sexuality._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TAGS: _No sex; exhibitionism; voyeurism; young; groping; m/g/g/g; all participants are fictional or of age to be involved in consensual sexual activity._

Somewhere around now was when I began sitting for the Kirbys, whom you'll recall had three little girls. I believe they were about two, four, and six, but the eldest may have been a fair bit older; she sure acted like it. What I mean is, she was quite forward, and behaved seriously and mature-for-her-age pretty much all the time. Yet more about this later. I don't know how much 'education' she received from her parents before we met, but, having no brothers, I suppose she didn't have a lot of opportunity to check out the opposite sex, as her father was not around much (if at all). So, I suppose what happened should come as no surprise; children are naturally curious about most things, including their bodies as well as others'. And they seek to satisfy that curiosity in a variety of ways.

I remember the kids still being free about changing in front of me in the living room; more than once they were in the middle of that when I arrived, having to be reminded to finish and go to bed by their mother (a shy, pretty little brunette, a bit on the chunky side, like her two youngest).

"Make sure Suzie is changed, and get Sarah into her nightie. Mandy, you too. And all of you don't forget to go pee – no accidents." She looked at me with a somewhat flustered glance. "Sorry. Maybe you can help them? I have to go." Grabbed coat and purse and fled out the door, leaving panty-clad daughters to my mercy.

I know now that Mrs. was on her way to get laid, which is why I usually spent the night at their place.

The older girls, especially Mandy, stalled a bit longer, mostly to avoid going to bed, as all kids tend to do, chattering about nothing and everything, asking endless questions.

"How old are you?"

"Fourteen. How about you?"

They told me, though I already knew.

"What grade are you in?"

"Nine."

"I'm in grade one, but Sarah and Suzie don't go to school yet."

"Yes, but they will soon."

"Do you have a penis?" She stared right at my crotch.

I felt it twitch, certain that she'd see the movement. "Err... Yes, all boys have penises. Now—"

"I know."

The child only wanted a way to bring up the subject, I now realise, even though her segue was not exactly seamless.

"Do boys pee from their penis?"

I was sure she already knew this, too, but... "Yes."

"My mom says that boys can do other things with their penis."

"PENIS!" Sarah shouted, Suzie contributing something unintelligible as, bored, she joined her sister to play on the floor.

"What can you do with yours?" Mandy's dark eyes held both a question and a challenge as they finally met mine.

I cleared my throat, trying to take control of the situation, thinking that this may not only get out of hand but could go on all night. "Ummm... All right... Quiet now. Girls, come go pee." I herded the three half-naked nymphs upstairs. Running the tap to trigger the urgency, I got the youngest, Suzie, out of her panties and onto a potty, watching the two eldest each in turn slip off underwear and climb onto the toilet. Only the eldest, Mandy, seemed at all shy, though not very; she wiped her sisters, looking me in the eye as she did herself. My dick grew more in my pants, thinking of the Lowells' pee play and trying to see where it came from as I followed the girls' streams into the toilet. I didn't dare try anything like that here, though. Not yet.

"You should go pee too." Mandy was quite bold, almost as bold as Carrie Lowell.

I mumbled something about not having to right now, arguing that it was not my bedtime anyway, and it was forgotten for the time being.

Suzie freshly diapered and into her sleepers, having washed her face again – her nose constantly ran, thumb stuck perpetually in her mouth – I bade, "Sarah, come let me put your panties and nightie on." Mandy glanced at me briefly before donning her own nightwear, not having to be prompted about undergarments either. I didn't yet dare cop a feel anywhere, not with all as witnesses, anyway. "Now to bed, girls. Come on."

I carried Suzie and put her in her crib in the master bedroom; farther along from the bathroom, the two eldest shared a room. I knew children liked to be 'tucked in', so I did. Yet the stalling and attention-seeking continued, at least for Mandy, Sarah merely following suit.

"I'm thirsty."

"Me too!"

"Girls, your mother says nothing to drink before bed, or you'll wet it. Now go to sleep."

"But I'm thirsty."

"Me too!"

"No."

"Awwwww! You're mean!"

I was young enough then to feel a bit bad about children calling me 'mean', but left it, and turned off the lights.

_Screaming!_

"Sorry! Sorry!" I'd forgotten that Sarah was afraid of the dark, and I was supposed to leave the hall light on. I went to comfort the little girl; a round little face, in the shadows a twisted, tearful mask within a blonde corona, buried itself in my chest, sniffles and trembling subsiding as the child clutched me.

"She's afraid of the dark, you know." Mandy's tone implied utter disdain for my apparent lack of intelligence.

As I've mentioned, I'm thinking that the little brunette – she had her mother's hair and eyes, albeit not the stockiness or pale colouring – was maybe eight or nine, not six or seven. Regardless, the point I want to make is that children's chronological ages do not necessarily match their emotional, physical, or intellectual maturity, any more than that of adults. Every individual has their own pace of growth, and such things are neither predictable nor malleable into given societal norms, and thus ought to be given somewhat free expression. Indeed, as I have seen and learned, there are a great many varieties of 'societal norms' regarding sexual propriety:

Trobriand Islanders, for one, treat their children virtually as miniature adults from about the age of six for girls, ten for boys, being expected and even encouraged to engage in sexual activity by their teens (albeit not with adults) in huts set aside for that purpose; another culture allows teen girls to pick and choose lovers around the same age, discarding them until she finds one that pleases her, which she then keeps for life; in yet another, adolescents are housed in mixed dormitories and expected to 'practise' with each other; elsewhere boys become men by swallowing the semen of their tribal elders, and likewise girls become women (believed to somehow 'fertilise' them as far as making them ready for childbearing); older women initiate boys barely in their teens as to how to please a woman; similarly men of ancient Greece took young boys as lovers and proteges, teaching them how to be men. I suppose one could, perhaps, claim, "Primitive ignorance and exploitation!" but...

Nothing people such as myself believe in or do is new, and _nothing_ is coerced; our children are taught to 'play safe' in all ways, and that only force is unacceptable, be it physical or otherwise.

Now, enough of the essay.

I took Sarah, appreciating her little bum cupped in my hands, downstairs to watch TV while she settled, soon moving her next to me as she drifted off due to the discomfort of her perching on my hardon. Mandy kept coming partway down, giving me an (I'm sure) unintended view up her short nightie to her white panties, complaining that she was thirsty, or hungry, or wasn't tired. Finally, I let her snuggle up on the other side of me, her sister by now almost asleep. I had a blanket around Sarah, and rearranged it carefully to cover the older girl, pulling it over my lap to hide my bulge as well. I'm not sure if she noticed or understood that I was hard, but thus did the explorations start.

I felt little fingers tentatively moving around under the blanket, like a caterpillar creeping along my thigh, knee, and back again. I tried not to squirm as it stopped and restarted a few times, till Mandy either got bolder or figured out where things were; I felt something like a large spider crawling over my raised crotch, poking and squeezing. The girl felt her way along my hardened shaft till perhaps she realised her target had been acquired; loosed a small gasp, abruptly withdrawing her hand. From the corner of my eye I saw her flushed, olive features studiously avoiding my glance, pretending to fix on the TV.

I then noticed some kind of romance movie showing, with a man and woman kissing passionately. That was about all they could show in those days, but doubtless it was enough to trigger new feelings and questions in some small children – albeit that was almost certainly not what had prompted Mandy to grope me.

Whatever the case, fatigue soon caught up with the child, and when I caught her nodding into my shoulder, I made her come upstairs to bed where I carried her somnolent sister.

A week or two later following their bed time and much the same stalling routine, I went up to the bathroom, leaving the door partly open, thinking that they were all finally asleep. They weren't, as evidenced by Mandy stealing past me. I assumed that, having heard me in the bathroom, she figured she could sneak a drink, but considering it now, she was probably just looking for attention again, from a boy – not to mention hazarding a further survey of my person.

I said nothing, thinking to catch her shortly when I was done. But as I was finishing up my piss, didn't the girl come tiptoeing back, peeking in at me as she passed. Several times, back and forth, perhaps supposing that I couldn't see her, else curiosity overcoming caution; to be sure I 'delayed' my conclusion, holding my stiffening dick above the toilet and shaking it far longer than was necessary.

Mandy's perambulations shortened, until she finally stopped pretending to be headed anywhere, bending awkwardly backward and staring fixatedly at my nearly erect cock through the gap in the doorway. I turned, intending to open it fully and let her look, or even ask if she wanted a closer inspection. Suddenly she gaped up at me in shock, ran to her room.

I saw no more of the girls that night.


	7. Only Sitter in Town - Pt 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _See Pts 1-6 for setup. I try to learn some control, plus how to comfort a woman as well as what rewards can be had from treating them well._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TAGS: _Violence (aftermath); exhibitionism; voyeurism; cumming; blowjob; F/m; all participants are fictional or of age to be involved in consensual sexual activity._

That night I awoke on the couch at some noise; thinking one of the kids had arisen, I foggily pushed off my blanket, sat up. Darkness still shielded all draped windows; interior light came from the apartment entrance, where I heard sounds: sniffling, as well as faint thumps. Confused, I got up, dressed only in underwear. Mrs. Kirby wasn't due back till early morning; I sometimes had to get Mandy ready for school and feed all the kids breakfast before going to school myself – except weekends, of course, like today.

Mrs. Kirby leaned one-handed on a wall, bent at the waist and apparently struggling to remove a boot with the other; purse and black high heels, one heel missing, dropped carelessly on the floor. Coat collar appeared torn, pulled off one shoulder; dark hair strewn and untidy. I knew something was very wrong, but hesitated.

"You're... You're home," I observed astutely.

Startled, she nearly fell, planting her foot with its boot half off, looking up at me wild-eyed and pale. I moved to help her, not thinking of anything other than what might have caused a blackening eye, the swelling bruise on her cheek, a split, bleeding lip. My first – and unfortunately not the last – encounter with spousal abuse; it did not, yet, enrage me.

She began to cry harder, albeit mostly silent. I removed her boot, her warm hand shaking as it clutched my bare shoulder. Her stockings were torn. Standing, I helped her coat off, absently hanging it on a hook while observing with dismay her dishevelled white dress. The small, solid woman collapsed, sobbing, into my arms, trembling as though chilled through. Feeling helpless, I merely held her, suddenly acutely aware of my disloyal pecker tenting my shorts and prodding Mrs. K's round little belly. I don't know if she felt it, or how long we stood there; I'm pretty sure we exchanged no words as I helped her upstairs to the bathroom.

"D-Don't w-wake the kids," she whispered. Her makeup ran, further marring pretty features with black streaks. "I d-don't w-want them... t-to see..."

I thought she needed help washing; her hands shook so much she could not even dab the blood from her lip. I noted as well bloodspots on the bodice of her low-necked, tight white medi-dress; tried to keep my gaze – and thoughts – from the encased twin swells jiggling provocatively at her unwanted movements.

"C-Can y-you...?" She handed me the washcloth.

I tried, but she could not stop shaking, and I dared not touch her with my other hand, nor approach much closer – as if I could, with my cock tenting my tighty-whities like a battering ram; fruitlessly, I kept turning away to try to hide it.

"L-Listen... th-this is no g-good. How ab-bout you r-run me a bath? I'll get out of these th‑things and be b‑back." A tiny smile showed through Mrs. K's disfigurement, and my cock twitched; this time I think she noticed through an eye-and-a-half, but I couldn't tell if the smile widened a hair more or my imagination suggested so.

She returned from her bedroom barely wrapped in a fluffy white robe; she may even have attempted to tidy her hair and wipe her face, though I hardly noticed – nor imagined why – since her modest cleavage showed thought the loosely tied gap.

I'd shut off the bathwater and wrapped a towel in front of me.

The smile struggled a little more. "Is that for m-me, hmm?" indicating the region of the towel with her chin. "In a bit."

I didn't get the innuendo, made to brush past her out the door.

"N-No... don't go. W-wash my back?"

I gulped. _Anything to please a lady..._

I began quaking as her own trembles subsided after she dropped her robe and stepped into the tub. "OooOO! H-Hot!"

Not too hot, I supposed, as she sank in with a stuttering sigh; she nearly fit on her back, knees slightly raised, arms on the sides, head against the tiled wall, eyes closed; big nipples poked like tiny, pale islands above the surface; hairy V between her legs obscuring detail. It would have been enough, had I not noted a few more bruises and swellings; felt a tightening in my gut that at last served to, decently, shrink my cock. I didn't know, yet, that she didn't want me entirely 'decent'.

I stood, staring, I don't know how long till she opened an eye – the one not swelling shut. "Can you... g-get me some ice? There's another w-washcloth in the hall c‑closet."

I did so, returning with the wrapped bundle.

"Th-thanks. Maybe you can do my b-back wh-while I hold this on my eye. It... it h‑hurts. And close the d‑door..."

My gut and throat clenched again. I wanted to ask what happened, although I knew; yet I didn't, if that makes any sense.

Gently, I moved the warm washcloth over her smooth white back, 'washing' far longer than it should ordinarily take. Somehow, I knew she didn't really want to be bathed, though; holding long black hair aside with her other hand, she welcomed contact the opposite of violent, and I obliged, revisiting all I could see, up over shoulders, once causing her to flinch. Abruptly I withdrew.

"No no... That's all r-right." Reaching, she put my hand back. "J-Just... g-gentle. I... n‑need..."

Instinctively I began to massage her shoulders, taking special care on the injured one. Soon I abandoned the washcloth, kneading yielding soft flesh with both hands, mostly with fingertips.

"God..." she moaned. I was pretty sure I wasn't hurting her any more. Venturing lower, I tested flanks and hips, over to spine with thumbs; she began trembling again, but I felt confident it was no longer due to fear or trauma. "I'll g-give you ab-bout... a d-day-and-a-half... to s-stop that."

I must have gasped as I snatched my hands away; she giggled, till I got the joke.

"I should get out an-nyway." Leaving the makeshift ice bag to dissolve in the bathwater, she stood, rinsing her hair under the shower, bent to pull the plug; I got hard again at the aspect of her furred cleft pouting at me, and this time there'd be no hiding it when she half-turned, asking me for the towel I 'wore'.

Looking desperately for another, I grabbed one off the wall rack. Smiling through puffy face, she took it, wrapping her hair up in a high bundle. "I still need yours. Or you can d-dry me."

Still shaking, torn between desire and fear, guilt and anger, even nausea, I gave it to her, leaving my hand blocking evidence of the victor. This time I saw white teeth between swellings.

She dried herself as I turned away; I heard another sound of amusement. "You're cute."

Mrs. K could probably see my blush glowing from the mirror; I could see her clearly enough.

"I want you to come w-with me. I d-don't want to be alone right n‑now."

Padding by me, having donned her robe without tying it, she led me by the hand to her bedroom. We got into her bed, Mrs. K slipping in beside me, thankfully – and maddeningly – not removing her housecoat. Snuggling against me, she bid, "H‑Hold me."

God, how I wanted to, but my cock...

Tentatively, I turned on my side, hands on her shoulders. She made a small sound again as she took them in hers, pulling my arms around her neck in a cross-embrace, deliberately wriggling backward, round ass rubbing full erection; the instant it slipped along her butt crack I came in my shorts, grunting and jerking while trying not to give myself away – as if the woman wouldn't notice.

"Hmm... That's nice," she murmured. "You should probably take th-those off."

Hesitantly, I did so, this time spooning into her and boldly wrapping myself around her pudgy waist, one leg over her bare ones. She sighed as my dick found its place in her butt crease again; I probably would have lost another load if it had been bare as well.

"You're a r-real... gentleman... Gentlemen get... r-rewards..."

My reward came – literally – around dawn; I woke once more to see the outline of dark hair – towel gone – pooled over my groin, an insistent suction on my rigid member itself. However long Mrs. K had been sucking me off, it lasted no longer as I immediately exploded. She made little mewling noises, sucking and swallowing as fast as I could reload her mouth.

I couldn't see her injuries as she crept up my body, kissing here and there and placing a firm, deep one on my lips, probing and swirling my tongue with my own cum. I think I actually came again, but I was still groggy with sleep and assuagement; yet I otherwise recall fondly one of the most erotic kisses I've had to this day.

"H-He... c-called me... a f-fat b-bitch," she murmured against my neck, sobbing.

I held her. "You’re not fat – you're beautiful."

She wept again, albeit not for the same reasons as earlier, then bade me go home, since her kids would be up soon and there would be awkwardness should I be found in their mommy's bed.


	8. Only Sitter in Town - Pt 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _See Pts 1-7 for setup. I learn discipline and some more control, as well as alternate means of administering pleasure._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TAGS: _Exhibitionism; voyeurism; masturbation; oral; mild BDSM; m/g/b/g; F/M/m; all participants are fictional or of age to be involved in consensual sexual activity._

"Daddy dickie... loooooooooooong!" Naked-but-for-a-t-shirt, Toby raced across the living room, back of his hand thumping against the wall to indicate the length of his dad's cock.

Chagrined, even at the exaggeration, mine nonetheless managed to remain hard and straining, firmly wrapped in panty-clad Carrie's little fists as she double-stroked it while I lay on the couch, pants undone once more. The strumpet had jumped up and squatted on the couch between my legs, helping herself to my maleness no sooner than her parents headed out the door. Doubtless still in a stage of fascination (I realise now), the six-year-old saw nothing sexual in the act, perhaps a vague naughtiness, having been scolded for pulling her brother's; thankfully, she was careful with mine. I couldn't guess her thoughts as it literally swelled to fullness in her pudgy hands. Brown eyes huge, she closely inspected my member again, testing the way it wobbled and twitched, the foreskin's movement; all quite studiously, less like a game than a subject for serious study.

Suddenly the learning stopped, play began; she giggled, pursing her lips to give it a smack. "Kiss it, Toby!" Following a couple more demos, the boy ran over to dutifully comply. He also kissed me on the lips; just a quick peck. I felt myself losing it, but thanks to Mss. Sykes and Kirby, I had learned a modicum of control. "Kiss it, Kayla!" The Lowell's diapered baby daughter, just barely walking, after some coaxing by big sis, toddled over and did as demonstrated; went back to her play on the floor while Toby watched.

Carrie continued up-and-down movements with the tips of her fingers, seeming to like the way my foreskin stretched to hide the swollen head. Grunting, I felt the urgency building, and the girl must have realised it, aiming my dick at bare tummy. I blew my load, much to her and her brother's delight as they both squealed and giggled. The girl once more smeared it all over herself, licking her fingers and sharing as before.

"KAYLA!" Carrie shouted. "Come here!" She jumped off, obviously intending to impel her little sister.

"Don't yell," I remonstrated. "And leave her alone."

Gripping my cock – stiff as ever – for a few more strokes, the girl grabbed an empty egg carton they'd been using as a toy, aiming my dick at it. "Cummie in here!"

I undoubtedly could have again, but Carrie did not yet make the connection between manipulating/masturbating and cumming, thinking it was a matter of... will or...? Thus, all soon lost interest when I didn't ejaculate right away, and they all moved away to play on the floor while I watched TV. Hoping they might come back to it, I left my dick out, but it languished unattended and mostly shrank till I heard the door; scrambling to do up my pants, I jumped up, thinking I should say something to the Lowells to distract the kids from saying anything.

"You're... uh... e-early." Facing them at the door from the living room, I had a penchant for stating the obvious.

"Looks like we're late," Mrs. Lowell observed, eyeing my crotch as she shed coat and shoes.

Mr. only chuckled, doing likewise.

Now, I should clarify that I previously claimed Mrs. Kirby's tits were bigger than Mrs. Lowell's; I'd meant Mrs. Sykes', but Mrs. Lowell was quite thin at medium height, breasts maybe a B-cup; red, pony-tailed hair and green eyes; in contrast with Mr. L: tall, solid, suntanned, dark-eyed, black hair hanging loose past his shoulders, droopy '70s mustache; both mid-twenties.

Suddenly aware of the half-bulge in my underwear sticking out of my undone zipper, "I... uh..." Doing it up while turning away would serve little purpose, but...

"And you were being naughty!" She pronounced it 'nowdy', but I understood well enough; Mrs. L's look was severe, yet not angry.

"Umm..."

"Mummy, look!" Carrie, determined to get me busted – as if I weren't already – stuck her bare tummy out, gazing down at the dried cum swathes framed in pudgy little hands.

"And what did I tell you two after sex-play? Get your little butts into the tub – I don't want it all over the bloody house! And it's bedtime anyway."

"Come on." Mr. scooped up shrieking/giggling Toby and Kayla, one in each arm; Carrie followed up the green shag steps, scrambling on hands and knees past her pop, yelling how she would fill the tubby.

I felt too mortified to move, let alone watch the child's naked behind; still, I had a feeling I was not in real trouble, despite hardly being able to meet Mrs. L's glare. A spark in those sea greens suggested I wasn't about to be turned over to the cops or castrated. Then again...

"Upstaihs with you too, boyo."

Confused, flushed and sweating as though following PE class, I figured I was about to be marched into the bathtub as well, although as to what purpose...

"No... keep going." Glancing back from the bathroom door – open so that splashes and childish shouts, as well as glimpses of bare flesh, including a hirsute adult male's, could be discerned – Mrs. L pointed farther down the hall. "In theah."

Entering her room, I turned to see her close the door, backing against it, now with a different expression. "Go on – bathroom."

Recalling they had an ensuite, I complied, closing the door behind me.

"Don't you da'e lock it."

Just about to do so, I hesitated; why would the woman demand that?

"Strip, and into the showah with you. If I come in theah in the next five minutes and you’re not, the'll be hell to pay."

 _She was coming in...?_ With _me...?!_

I swallowed, struggling out of my clothes and leaving the door alone. Entering and drawing the flower-patterned shower curtain, I adjusted the taps. Somehow forgetting what to do, I stood there a moment, trembling, dick still half-hard and wobbly, like my knees felt. The water continued to swirl and drain away uselessly.

The curtain whipped aside. "Well, don't just stand theah, boyo. Shove ovah!"

My jaw splashed into the shallows as Mrs. L climbed in, forcing me to appreciate her quite nude little frame from the rear. A little under my height (not particularly tall for my age), she reached to adjust the shower head, closing the curtain and pulling the plunger with the other hand.

"Shit!" the redhead exclaimed under the sudden spray. "Fuckin' cold, aye?"

 _I dunno..._ I felt pretty hot, actually...

Her slim backside pushed into my straining dick as she jumped away from the stream. Further correcting the direction with one hand, reached to smack my cock with the other. "Whoa down theah, boyo! What?" Instead of whacking my dick painfully away from her ass again, she grabbed hold, measuring the length and girth with a couple of blind strokes and squeezes. "Mmmmm... Bettah have a closah look at that." Turning, Mrs. L lifted it, turned a critical eye upon it. "Hmm. Bad boy!" Swatted it again.

"OW!" I guarded my equipment, now quite uncertain.

"HA! You think that huht? Naughty boy ain't seen nuthin' yet."

_Oh, fuck..._

"Move your hands away."

I swallowed, obeying, trembling with fear and excitement.

"Listen, you little fuckah. Since you were playin' with my kids, and didn't even make sure they were cleaned up and in bed before I came home, you're in the shit."

"But I didn—OW!"

"Quiet! No backtalk. Move your hands, I said. Now, I'm goin' to warsh you, and if that pathetic little peckah goes off on me, you'll be in for worse. You get that, kiddo?"

"I—OWW!"

"You'll call me 'Mistress' – AND MOVE YOUR HANDS! I won't tell you again—SHIT! You filthy little pehveht! You came all ovah me when I told you not to. Lick it off, shithead!"

I did, only a little grossed out tasting my own spunk, quite diluted, off her watery flesh, for the first time.

"Now turn around."

"OWOWOOWOOW!"

"What do you say?"

"I... Ow?"

"No, dumbass – you say, 'Sorry, Mistress!'"

"OW!"

"What d'you say?"

"S-Sorry, mistress."

"OW OW!"

"I don't believe you."

By now I'm sure my ass was flaming to match Mrs. L's hair when dry, but my cock had recovered from its abuse and accidental discharge.

"SORRY, M-MISTRESS! I... I'm g-gonna..."

"Don't you fuckin' da'e!"

The little woman physically whipped me around, grabbing my cock at the root in one small fist, pulling and squeezing painfully (now I knew how Carrie came by similar behaviour). Meeting her glare, all inclinations to cum fled my mind; I nearly passed out under the sensations as, abashed, glanced away again.

Vaguely, I heard childish voices raised in complaint, an adult male's sternly overriding them.

"Look at me, boyo. Now I'm gonna finish warshin' you – and this will be the one and only time. Then you'll warsh Mistress. And if you cum..."

I moaned.

"Pathetic little wohm..."

She did so, and I did so, managing – amazingly enough – to not cum again, especially when Mr. L came in, still naked, and I felt even more intimidated.

 _Fuck!_ I thought. _A boa constrictor is trying to climb his leg...!_

Toby had not exaggerated all that much regarding his dad's 'dickie'.

"What's goin' on in heah, then?" A grin spread mustache wider, teeth gleaming white inside glossy black frame.

Mrs. turned a withering look on her husband from under an arm, where I washed the red-tufted pit. "Good... You’re heah, Meat."

_Meat? Oh... I supposed I got it, but not the whole of it._

The grin disappeared. "Yes, Mistress." Eyes went downcast.

"Meat, this is Wohm..." She meant 'Worm', of course; I felt mortified. "Meat, you're gonna show Wohm how to warsh Mistress propah. Do a good job and I won't punish you. Then you'll dress Mistress, but Wohm will learn how to do that later."

"Yes, Mistress."

"Get out, Wohm."

I got out of the tub. Mr. L switched the shower off and put the plug in, adding some bubble bath and other esoteric products.

"You bettah be payin' attention, Wohm."

I tried to memorise everything, including proportions, but was certain I wouldn't – which I realised of course meant punishment. I shivered.

"WOHM! You gonna cum on me?"

"N-No, M-Mistress."

"Pehveht. Bettah not. You don't cum anywheah till I give pahmission."

"Y-Yes, M-Mistress!"

She cocked an eye at me, her husband. "Little fuckah's learnin'."

Head still down, Mr. L said nothing, placing a neck rest – called bath pillows now, they looked more like kids' float toys then – and Mrs. L laid down once the water got deep enough, bubbles now nearly covering her entire. I wasn't sure if I was disappointed I couldn't see her any more, or if it heightened the eroticism. Certainly, I could pay more attention to Mr., and was quite amazed that his cock still hung low; big, but apparently not even half-hard.

"See, Wohm. Meat is not even allowed to get hahd without pahmission." Mrs'. eyes were closed; she'd either noticed me looking or read minds well.

The ritual – for that is what it seemed, even then – continued a short time till I was abandoned in the bathroom while Mr. and Mrs. exited to the bedroom, closing the door. Though straining, I heard nothing, and meanwhile tried not to think of anything sexual – as if! – let alone daring to touch my cock. It seemed a lifetime and yet a moment before I was summoned.

And all my blood rushed to my lower head once more.


	9. Only Sitter in Town - Pt 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _See Pts 1-8 for setup. I learn yet more control and how to please. Also, other uses for silk scarves, and what goods can be fashioned from leather aside from belts, shoes, and coats._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TAGS: _Exhibitionism; voyeurism; mild BDSM; masturbation; oral; F/M/m; F/M/m/g/b/g; all participants are fictional or of age to be involved in consensual sexual activity._

Mrs. Lowell was no longer naked – but at first, I felt more scared than excited. Standing spread-legged, arms akimbo, in wickedly pointed high-heeled black leather boots half-way up her thigh; garter holding fishnet stockings inside those; black micro-mini, split in front, that covered almost nothing aside from matching panties; black-and-red corset (I learned later the name) that squashed her waist to nearly non-existent and pushed modest tits up through some kind of lacey top; gloves to match the boots encircled by wide, brass bracelets; likewise a cat-mask; plus a collar that spelled 'MISTRESS BITCH' in clear gem-studded letters (so I read when I got closer). And a whip.

Mr. lay naked and spread-eagled on his back, tied hand and foot with red scarves to the bedposts, similarly blindfolded in red silk, mouth stoppered by a ball-gag (not that I knew what it was at the time). His cock still lay quiescent across one hairy thigh, though it – and his whole body – twitched, just as I jumped when Mrs. cracked her whip.

"WOHM! Now pay attention."

I must admit that the whole of that encounter is a bit of a blur; if I were to try to describe it in detail, I would end up inventing most of it. Suffice to say that only a few incidents remain relatively clear, albeit are almost assuredly composites.

It began with my simply watching Mistress discipline her slave, Meat, or more like tease him. As I saw in a future experience, actual discipline occurred before he became bed-bound. Now, play began, as the whip snapped again, this time unnervingly close to his cock. He quivered as his petite wife dragged the tip of the quirt (I soon learned it was a riding crop, not a whip; those were different) up legs, body, arms, down the other side, across his balls. Seemingly random kisses landed here and there, to my surprise and fright, raising red welts.

Mr. L whimpered a couple times, but otherwise uttered not a sound. Using knowledge I acquired later, his obsequiousness looked and felt totally at odds with how I thought I knew him. I couldn't believe the same outgoing, friendly man, hearty laugh only a little less booming than my father's, so firm yet gentle with his kids, turned into a... a... I don't know what. A sniveling pansy (that was the word we used back then). However, nowhere did this persona ever appear other than in the bedroom – that I saw, anyway.

Every time that massive cock threatened to move a little more than just flinches or jolts, a lash put it back in its place. Following a bit more of this torture, Mistress finally allowed him to get hard, this time, teasing all around balls and shaft with feathers, alternating with strokes from a gloved hand.

"Now, Wohm. Take hold of that meat stick and check out what a real prick feels like. Not yours, wankah!"

"OUCH!" Quirts hurt worse than hands. "S-Sorry, M-Mistress!"

"I told you not without pahmission! Now get on the bed."

"Yes, M-Mistress!"

I got up close and very personal with Mr. L's cock, treating it much the same as his eldest daughter had mine. Well, at first. After I'd helped manually bring it to its full uncut ten inches (Mrs. measured it against my 'pathetic little wohm'), she told me to lick it and put the head in my mouth, and suck. I tried, I really did, mentally comparing it with my dad's (no, I had not ever sucked his, but naturally had seen it hard, and this was bigger).

"Pathetic!"

_SNAP!_

"OUCH!" _My ass...!_

"Leave off, Wohm! Move ovah. I'll show you how to suck a prick."

She did, concluding the teasing and torture by deepthroating the damn thing to the root. Mr. L grunted, body shaking, heels drumming on the mattress despite bindings. Naturally I watched, awestruck, as Mrs. L plumbed the depths of her throat again and again with the giant meatstick.

Suddenly she grabbed it two-fisted, squeezing the base; both small hands barely covered half. "No cumming, Meat! For that you'll wait."

As far as I could see, he hadn't, but that didn't matter as Mrs. ordered me to lie beside her hubby. "Squeeze in close. All right then."

Similarly engulfing my dick, I'm sure I reacted much the same as Mr., but couldn't be sure since I nearly blacked out from sheer pleasure, having never experience a deepthroating before.

Moving long tresses over the opposite shoulder, the little redhead bid me, "Wohm, you're allowed to cum when you want. Since you haven't learn— _Fuck!_ — _mmmmphh!_ "

I needed no more go-ahead, as my first wad cutter shot Mrs. L in the just-bared ear before she captured the rest, easily ramming her mouth all the way down my seven-incher and holding on as I thrashed and grunted, spilling everything I had into her warm suction. Finally withdrawing, milking and licking the last couple drops, including an escapee or two, she muttered, "Wow... fuckin' right, boyo. Not bad." Kissing my still-twitching shaft, at last released it, much to my actual relief. "Now, watch this and learn."

Once again, she impaled her face on Mr. L's horsecock. Then, using a mostly hands-free technique I would not see again till I viewed a pornstar named Little Oral Annie, slurped her way along it; licking up and down; briefly enveloped the head and slithered her tongue around; working it in and out, bulging her cheek; slowly sinking all the way down the monster, burying her nose in dark pubes; lather, rinse, repeat. Finally coming up for air, said, "Meat, you may cum now."

The poor man did so the instant she throated it again, moaning through his gag and arching his back as though suffering electrocution. Mrs. L went with him, apparently swallowing all he had to offer as well.

Smacking her lips, she cleaned both our cocks. "Fuck, yeah. Looks like you're ready to go again, Wohm. Maybe you're not so pathetic aftah all. Good thing, cuz I need a fuck. Untie Meat while I take all this off. Normally that's his job, but I'm hohny."

Blinking, Mr. L grinned weakly at me as I removed his gag and blindfold, advising, "Get me h‑hand here. And that foot."

I did so, and he freed himself the rest of the way, kneeling on the far side of the bed.

Now naked as well, Mrs. knelt between us. "Right... Wohm, you're first." Straddling me, she aimed Mr. Everready true, sank down on me with a small sound, started riding.

Mr. L moved closer, kissing, rubbing, stroking us both; suckled her nipples till they resembled those on a baby bottle, then mine (somewhat more modest, I'm sure); when he tongue-kissed me, sliding a hand under my butt to shove a finger up my anus, I came again, shooting whatever I had left up inside his wife's wet clenching cunt. When I opened my eyes again I saw his mouth now attempting to swallow an entire tit while fingers busily frigged along my finally shrinking member; in combination we set her off; shaking and jerking, she leaned to smother my mouth with her own, tongue rammed down my throat (I now know partially to suppress her normal vocalisations, which could rouse the neighbourhood).

I don't remember falling asleep in their queen bed until waking to a shrieking pink mass of naked childhood squirming in amongst us.

"Settle down, kids," Mr. L commanded. Mrs. only moaned, burying her head under a pillow. "If you've all peed, get in and be quiet for a while. It's not time to get up yet."

Obediently – more or less – the three cherubs did so. (Kayla had slept with Carrie for the night, as her crib was in here – though she seldom slept in it or by herself anyway.) The youngest being a Daddy's girl, snuggled up with him; as I learnt, Mom wasn't into mornings, and so the kids tended to leave her alone. Thus, I ended up with the bulk of the attention.

Toby and Carrie began to squabble as they wrestled for supremacy; there being little room for six of us, however, even on a queen bed, it necessitated that they pile atop me anyhow, so I had two delectable nude little cherubs wriggling against me, each endeavouring to get closer than the other. Naturally my morning wood was already in evidence, but they appeared not to notice, for now.

"Shh, you two," Dad admonished. "Mummy's sleeping."

"No she's not," Carrie whispered over-loudly.

"Well, she wants to, so be quiet and lie still."

_As if..._


	10. Only Sitter in Town - Pt 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _See Pts 1-9 for setup. I learn exactly where all body apertures are located and confirm certain functions._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TAGS: _Exhibitionism; voyeurism; masturbation; oral; watersports; F/M/m; F/M/m/g/b/g; all participants are fictional or of age to be involved in consensual sexual activity._

May as well bid the tides as expect three small children to remain quiescent when not asleep or else gagged and Velcroed to a wall – the latter being of course not exactly acceptable, so... Needless to say no one got any more sleep that morning, especially after small young hands soon began fumbling at my privates; both got a good grip, yet this time seemingly content to cooperate rather than compete.

"Your dickie is big," Kayla whispered.

"Daddy's... BIIIIIIIIG!" Toby helpfully supplied, spreading his arms as far apart as he could, smacking me in the forehead before taking hold of me again.

Next to me I heard an adult feminine groan of exasperation; a little farther away a childish cooing and adult male grunt of amusement amidst tuneless humming. Mrs. L remained face-down under a pillow, though a bare shoulder touched my flank; doubtless her nude daughter lay partially atop her, and thus she could not be unaware of the proceedings. I wished I knew just what Mr. and Kayla were up to. Still, there appeared to be no parental intervention forthcoming, so I explored too.

I fondled Toby's tiny dick, which hardened to a stub as the boy gurgled contentedly, rubbing his little body against mine and masturbating me somewhat in time with his sister. Likewise, I drew a finger along Carrie's little crease; though I wasn't surprised at the time, as I knew no different, this time the girl's slit felt well lubricated. (Girls have a couple of different glands that secrete love juices, one or both of which can sometimes activate at virtually any age, just as boys can have erections even in the womb. Either that or it was piss.) At least the room quieted, aside from small murmurs and sighs, occasional giggles.

Carrie suddenly sat atop my stomach, scooting forward on her little bum to press her wet, girly-pee smelling cunny right in my face; I realised then that the incident when she sat on me some time ago was no accident. Giggling, secretions serving to slicken the way, she slid her butt back and forth, seeming to delight in smothering me.

"Mmmph!" I protested. "Be still." Hazarding a glance at the adults next to me, I saw Mrs. L still mostly hidden under pale blue bedclothes, long hanks of tangled red hair in evidence. Mr.'s head lay against his daughter's, facing the other way, hairy dark torso half covered by a naked pink toddler, who suddenly went rigid alongside him, convulsing as though... He cradled her in one arm; the other hand seemingly in the area of Kayla's groin, moving almost imperceptibly.

As I was about to learn firsthand, children are quite capable of orgasm, using virtually anything, such as the straps of a car seat between their legs, to get themselves off. Indeed, later on I witnessed Kayla doing that very thing repeatedly, as well as other kids doing similar acts of self-gratification. And that doesn't include the so-called 'precocious' ones, who, it turns out, behave that way due to – of all things recently discovered – depression/anxiety. But more on that some other time.

The puppy pile continued. I held Carrie by pudgy hips as I gazed into her splayed little vagina. At last she kept relatively still as I explored with a finger, touching and stroking labia, rather large clit, causing her to gasp and start; gently probed as deep as I dared, till she started squirming in what I took to be discomfort. Yet I could now identify her urethra; caressed it with a fingertip, traced circles around bright pink vulva in freely flowing girl nectar, rubbing the excited red little nubbin at the top. As the girl's writhing intensified, I noted Toby being rather rough with my cock. Fortunately, it seemed there was some parental supervision after all.

"Tobias!" Mr. L reached over prone Mrs. and dealt his son a sharp, bare-handed smack; where, I couldn't see. "Gentle! You don't like your dickie pulled, do you?"

The boy whined briefly, releasing me as I felt a much larger, warmer hand enwrap my rigid member as I probed Carrie's cleft with my tongue-tip.

"Like this."

Suddenly, Carrie convulsed atop me, emitting gurgling sounds as sprinkles of girl-cum spit into my face and leaked down my chin. Pressing my nose into her and licking the warm, wet saltiness, I held her close, thrusting my tongue as far as I could, keeping her from jerking right off me as her father stroked her back while jacking me.

"There you go, Toby. Good girl, Carrie."

Kayla, recovered from her own orgasm, leapt up and began shouting nonsensical syllables, running out of the room.

"Kayla! Come back here, you little wart!" Mr. L scrambled up after his youngest as Mrs. merely groaned again, turning to face the other way beneath the pillow, though leaving bare ass firmly pressed against my hip, despite having more room now.

Son took over from father and I immediately came; where, again I couldn't see, due to being smothered by cunny again, but Toby shrieked in glee, letting go and apparently chasing the shots with his hands like sparks from a campfire.

"Tobias!" Mrs. L, now animated, scolded her male offspring. "What did Daddy tell you about the mess? Get! Into the tubbie with you."

Not much abashed, the boy joined younger sister and father in the bath. Meanwhile I managed to make Carrie cum again – I think; but the damnable little minx definitely pissed in my face. Laughing as a yellow jet spewed, stinging, into my eyes, face, nose, mouth, at least I could now confirm the pee-hole for certain. Yet she got into even more trouble for messing the bed than her brother.

"Carrie! Damn you! How many times did we tell you, don't do that in the bed? Go tell your father."

Chastened this time, eldest child joined the rest in the bathroom, and I heard a couple of smacks – doubtless on a cute little bare butt – and snivels. (Of course, this was in a day where corporal punishment – that is, spankings – were still quite acceptable means of child discipline; and once more, I never suffered long term effects such as becoming violent or worse, nor did any of my siblings, cousins, etc.)

Meanwhile, I underwent a remarkable cleanup by their mother. "Sorry about... the brats." Moving red tresses out of the way, she licked my face, hair, neck, chest... everywhere trickles of pee mixed with little girl juices ran, including the odd shot-spot and dribbles of my own on legs and cock; kissed me deep, swirling it all around before withdrawing, slurping it all down and swallowing with a lip-smack. "I guess we're even now." Quick kiss on the lips; rose from the bed. "Bettah come with me." Indicated the wet-spotted sheets. "I'll change all that later."

"Y-Yes, Mistress."

She laughed, smacking me on the ass as she followed me to the bathroom; the kids and Mr. had vacated downstairs for breakfast. "You don't have to call me that all the time, boyo. You'll learn when."

I think it was likely another time, because I was pretty much spent by then, but I recall fucking Mrs. from behind, her short legs spread on the rim of the tub as hot water cascaded over us, in addition to a couple of times in their bed. I also sucked off Mr. to completion more than once, swallowing all I could (modestly, it wasn't nearly the volume I could shoot – at least not when 'full') as he jabbed his finger up my ass again. I never learned to deepthroat ten inches, though, and taking that much manmeat in my own ass would have to wait (I never have been fully bisexual, as in equally attracted to guys and girls).

Either way, _fuck_ , what a start to a day!


	11. Only Sitter in Town - Pt 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _See Pts 1-10 for setup. I go back a bit more in time to some of my earliest memories of family homelife._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TAGS: _Nudism; voyeurism; exhibitionism; incest; masturbation; F/b/g; all participants are fictional or of age to be involved in consensual sexual activity._

Of course, that was not the norm. Yet before I go further, I perhaps ought to go back a bit.

When we were small, and before my mother and father split, we lived on a farm that was surrounded by a whole lot of nothing – unless you count trees and squirrels. And birds. Oh, and the cattle we kept, as well as the chickens and ducks and... You get the picture. We had no electricity except for a big diesel generator we used only occasionally on laundry days (which, for my poor mother was almost every day, as I recall), and to pump water up from the creek to fill and heat the hot water tank for bath days. Otherwise we had a wood stove and a wood-burning furnace.

Even as nudists, five kids on a farm can generate a lot of laundry, as you can't do some chores naked without great discomfort, such as haying and carrying armloads of wood in daily for the stove, and chasing cows through forests; plus, there's winter. And sunburn. And bugs. Even so, aside from chores, which as a kid naturally seemed to take way too much of your free time, we led a rather idyllic existence, despite not being that well off.

We had quite a few cousins from various cities or larger towns who loved coming to 'The Farm' for summer vacations and occasional holidays; so, aside from us five, there could be anywhere from two to seven cousins as well, all younger than me (and all on my mom's side, as my dad's siblings lived back east; but I will tell you someday about the summer my older cousin K (f) and I spent at my dad's parents' place in the Yukon with two younger cousins on that side of the family).

Therefore, until I reached 13, when I moved in with my dad and stepmother, my siblings and I played mostly nude – summers only, mind, as uneven heat in our old house during winter made it problematic, most times – on several hundred acres. Although this was well before these unfortunate days where kids can hardly play in their own backyards, let alone roam around town on their own, to give perspective, when my closest-in-age sister and I spent a couple of summers with my dad and stepmom, we bicycled by ourselves – at the age of about 10-11 – several miles from our house to the small town where we (albeit not my sister; she chose to stay with Mom) eventually moved later on. More about us in a bit, though.

I should first offer a slight revision regarding being surrounded by "nothing", as our property bordered a stretch of foreshore on a small lake, on the other side of which lay a public resort – no, not nudist – and provincial park. So, we were _supposed to_ swim 'textiled' there. Being a better camping and fishing spot than our own private lake – it bounded by thick, deep mud in spring (which had its own pleasures, naturally) and otherwise having no 'beach', only hard-packed clay and mud, and no fish as it froze out almost every year – the latter wasn't much good for anything but other types of play, so we mostly went to the former. The bigger lake required a good half-hour walk from home, which us kids thought nothing of (we had no quads – no such thing, then – no motorbikes, just one old bicycle between us till my sister and I got our own each, for our northern summers).

It should go without saying that, unsupervised, us kids thought nothing of 'forgetting' to put our suits on when playing at this beach, and at first we hardly noticed when boaters and anglers passed by – who of course then complained to the owners of the resort, who in turn brought it to the attention of our parents. Yet Mom and Dad took the attitude that whatever took place on our private property was no one else's business; so, although they 'suggested' we wear our suits there, they mostly deflected criticism, essentially taking the stance, as I do today: "If what you're looking at offends you, don't look." We did have the occasional family picnic there, mostly clothed.

In any case, this lake had a curious habit, during a high spring runoff, of creating a small yet deep pond not quite as big around as a house just a few yards away; sometimes the channel into it got blocked, which us kids delighted in clearing, then coming back the next day to find the pond filled. It didn't last long, and unfortunately, since it had no drainage, it got stagnant in a hurry, and was soon covered in pollen and frogspawn. But when it dried up again it became a pit where we could conduct more circumspect play, since it was screened from the lake proper.

Yet it comes time to tell you how my mother, especially, taught us to behave with our own and each other's bodies. To this day I firmly believe that this should be a 'natural' part of child-rearing, but with many so-called adults freaked out at even mentioning 'private parts', let alone proper sex education, well... Anyway, my eldest sister and I used to bathe together routinely, as I've mentioned, as did most of us who could fit in the tub at once, when we became older and able to supervise the youngest. This was not only to conserve hot water, but a teach-and-learn opportunity as well.

One of my earliest memories is of my sister, D, and I sitting facing one another in the tub, water not even covering our hips (water conservation, remember), thus hardly obscuring anything. I suppose I could not have been more than five or six, my sister, you'll recall, 17 months younger. Checking one another out visually being pretty much expected, my mother also taught us proper names for body parts.

"J***," she addressed me, "this is _your_ body [I recall the emphasis now]." _Your_ feet, _your_ legs, _your_ penis, _your_ testicles..." and so on, repeating much the same for my sis. "D***, this is _your_ vulva... this is _your_ tummy, _your_ nipples, _your_ bottom..." Continued, "No one, not even Mommy and Daddy, and not your brothers or sister, or your cousins or anyone else, is allowed to touch you unless you want them to."

The lecture, if you wish to call it that, went on a bit longer; the gist being that _our_ bodies were _ours_ ; what gave us pleasure and how it was accomplished was a matter for each of us to decide for him- or herself. Of course, it wasn't quite that simple nor the end of it; instruction continued long after, reinforcing values and propriety, such as places in which it might be (in)appropriate to pleasure oneself or each other. Also 'good touch/bad touch' – although it wasn't termed like that back then, and it was only 'bad' if we didn't want it.

"Now, with each other's permission, you may touch one another – but you don't have to. You don't ever have to."

I think my mother may have put it in even simpler terms, and again, I'm probably merging several memories into one, but hopefully you get the gist.

Mom went on, "Just as you're not allowed to hit, you're not allowed to hurt one another. And if one says to stop, the others must stop."

She probably checked for understanding, and then I remember my sister – being the bolder one – asking why my penis was 'pointing up', or something to the effect.

Mom smiled. "That's called an erection, kids. It happens to boys sometimes." D asked why, and Mom explained something about how it happens when boys see pretty girls like her, or occasionally for no reason at all, which seemed acceptable for five-or-so-year-olds.

"Can I touch it?" D asked.

I think I nodded or mumbled something, so D grabbed for my stiff little dick with alacrity, into which Mom naturally intervened, admonishing her that a penis, and especially a boy's testes or 'balls', were sensitive, and reiterated to treat each other's bodies with respect. I'm pretty sure we already knew why boys had penises and girls had vulvas, but D stood up anyway, bow-legged and splaying her little cunny lips apart, as if to confirm no penis hid there. Inserting a finger, she gasped and jumped, receiving a parental caution that she must be very careful when attempting to put anything in her 'vagina'; in fact, I believe my mother told her she should not try any kind of insertion, or let anyone else do so, or it could hurt her.

"Can J*** put him finger there?"

I was a bit mystified why she would ask such a thing when she'd just been told not to and seemed to hurt herself doing it, but Mom asked if I wanted to.

"Then go ahead, _carefully_."

Indeed, D seemed to like it, but I quickly learned as well not to probe very deep at all, just the barest fingertip, touches and caresses, mostly along the lips. (We may even have gotten instruction on naming various interior female parts, but if so I either don't recall or it was over my head at the time.)

"I want feel you peens again," D demanded.

"Penis," Mom corrected. "What do you say, D***?"

"Pleeeease."

We were taught to be polite, too. And learning about gender, anatomy, and sex in our family never stopped, as D was shown how to masturbate me – or I should say 'fondle', as actual masturbation, in the strictest sense, came quite a bit later.


	12. Only Sitter in Town - Pt 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _See Pts 1-11 for setup. I pontificate a bit more and return to babysitting the three Kirby girls._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TAGS: _No sex; voyeurism; exhibitionism; m/g/g/g; all participants are fictional or of age to be involved in consensual sexual activity._

I honestly believe that, from a very early age, most girls are natural flirts and teases; it's in their genes or hardwired in their brains, or whatever. Not that there's anything wrong with that, and of course, this applies to many boys as well, albeit I have not seen young boys precociously flaunt themselves in the presence of either sex as much as girls in front of males (but that may only be on account of my being male). I do not refer to those who have been brought up as we were, unashamed and frankly accepting of their sexuality; yet even those presumably too young to have been much exposed to media, and raised in more or less strict circumstances concerning 'morality', have demonstrated to me that we are pretty much all sexual beings, virtually from birth.

This is not to say I advocate unrestrained sexuality with children of any age; again, everything must be consensual and, as far as practicable, with informed consent, or at least not forced. Thus, an infant obviously cannot consent to anything, much less full intercourse – aside from the patently obvious fact that, as I've mentioned, penetration of immature bodies in any orifice with almost any object can easily injure. Yet, what harm in exploring and fondling, masturbation, or even oral stimulation without unwonted intrusiveness? Believe it or not, in some cultures, fondling or massaging young children's genitals was or is a common way to soothe distress.

What I'm getting at is that, even before young children have an inkling that what they're doing is in any way 'sexual', they begin to practise certain aspects of sexuality, and then, once media and peers begin to influence them and they _notice_ the effect they may be having – even if they don't know why – it's reinforced and repeated, or alternatively repressed, depending on reactions. Just watch kids play dress-up; how they pose in mirrors even before they've supposedly 'learnt' such behaviours; they copy parents and elders, again without contemplation of why anyone does so. Some of this sort of play is perfectly innocent, some perhaps not so much; yet, separating the two seems pointless, so long as children are taught when/where certain more blatant practices may not be appropriate, just as adult sexuality is not appropriate everywhere (although why this is so is another moot point, in my opinion).

I know this because I have known many children, raised in all kinds of ways, especially from my childhood and somewhat later years, when media and peer influence simply did not come close to that of current times. With very few TV channels in my youth, the vast majority of which were heavily regulated and/or censored – not to mention no internet back in the 60s through the 80s, nor smart phones and 'apps', much less social media sites – exposure to explicit imagery in so-called pornography, mainstream movies, music videos, and even magazines was, albeit in many ways less regulated, far less common. I won't debate the relative values of one era versus another; my point is that human beings are human beings, and children, being human, should be expected to behave like humans, even if immature. (Indeed, regarding child labour, in much earlier times they were treated as _miniature_ humans, expected to carry commensurate workloads – to which I am certainly _not_ advocating a return either.)

Nevertheless, I don't intend my tales to turn into some kind of psycho-sexual treatise.

I wish to go back now to the three Kirby girls and their mother, who you'll recall had an absentee husband and abusive lover. The Kirbys were not, as far as I'm aware, nudists or advocates of free expression like us; the behaviour of these girls, stemming from simple curiosity and even, perhaps, repression and ignorance, is where I'm going this time.

As Mandy, Sarah, and Suzie naturally grew older partially under my care, their curiosity only intensified. Again, despite my encounter with their mother – which it should be noted was the only one – Mrs. K never behaved 'openly' sexual or bodily. (I'm happy to say that she moved on from harmful relationships, even moving away with a new husband shortly after what I'm about to describe.) None of her daughters had yet begun to develop secondary sexual characteristics – Mandy, the eldest, being perhaps only nine by now. Still, I can only describe their play as 'precocious', their boldness increasing as their inquisitiveness continued to be unassuaged. Or perhaps it's simply true that many little girls (and some boys) naturally seek to provoke reactions through instinctual sexuality, just as children test all kinds of boundaries.

I remember taking them to the playground more than once, on one occasion Mandy hanging upside down on the monkey bars, skirt naturally enough falling to reveal 'everything she had for breakfast', as my mother put it when an older girl put herself in a compromising position without regard for propriety. Albeit not quite _everything_ , as in Mandy's case white cotton panties shone brightly in the spring sunshine to all park-goers. I noticed only when she shouted at me to watch her, as I was catching her younger siblings coming down the slide.

As Sarah had just launched herself at me, I had to wait to respond; although only a few seconds' delay, Mandy's demand for attention rose.

"J***, LOOK AT ME!"

Doubtless the entire park saw what I now saw. Mandy had let go with her hands, dangling by bare legs hooked over one bar. She began to swing gently, skirt flapping down over now-bare torso, as shirttails succumbed as well to gravity, revealing even more dusky young flesh.

"Uhh... careful, Mandy. Don't fall."

Naturally she protested that she wouldn't, but by now I heard complaints from siblings about 'their turn'. Torn between catching her sisters, and watching both the display and against fear that the child would indeed fall, I noted that Mandy began a hand-and-leg negotiation of the red metal apparatus, turning one way and going back the other, clamouring all the while for me to observe. To me, it seemed the child swayed exaggeratedly, little panty-clad butt going back-and-forth, skirt flapping, long black hair coming loose from ponytails, top now pretty much encircling aught but neck and shoulders. Regardless, interpretation could range from deliberate sexual provocation to simply endangering herself for attention; like as not both, somewhere in between.

Yet soon a competition arose, three little girls vying for my consideration of their various athletic endeavours, including vaults and handstands, jumps, climbs, and so on, all designed, it seemed, to reveal as much as they could without stripping off any more clothing than shoes and socks.

Little did I know that much more would come off later.

Meantime I managed to persuade all three ankle-biters to get on one end of the teeter-totter while I attempted to outweigh them on the other; however, I did not yet weigh quite as much as even three small girls together, so I had to physically push it down and then let it up without slamming them into the ground – not that the urchins helped against any such event; quite the opposite, shrieking and bouncing to make it as difficult for me as possible, I'm sure. Doubtless they also got thrills from the vibrations on their little behinds as their end of the apparatus thumped the well-worn turf, dumping one or another into the dirt before she leapt up, screeching to be let on again.

Finally, however, more than one fell off at once, and the youngest, Suzie, began squalling; one of her sisters had landed atop her, yet none appeared injured; no blood, etc. Having grown out of her 'snot-nosed' stage, I got the little one sorted and tidied relatively easily, and felt relieved to have an excuse to take them home. Refusing to don shoes and socks, however, I was obliged to make them carry their own, socks stuffed into shoes, while piggy-backing the littlest, her footwear stuffed under my arms. Of course, they all demanded turns at this as well, so our way home, despite being only a couple of blocks, seemed interminable as I swapped them out repeatedly. Mandy was a bit too heavy to piggy-back, and when I told her this, she naturally pouted and declaimed unfairness. Manfully, I struggled with her for a few yards, but finally protested that she was just getting too big for piggy-backs, and didn't she want to be a grown up girl (or something like that)? I don't know if this sparked certain thoughts that manifested later, but in any case, we finally arrived back at their place.


	13. Only Sitter in Town - Pt 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _See Pts 1-12 for setup. I tutor the Kirby girls; the eldest gets special attention._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TAGS: _Nudism; voyeurism; exhibitionism; masturbation; m/g/g/g; all participants are fictional or of age to be involved in consensual sexual activity._

After getting them all a drink; making them go pee (in the toilet); washing dirty faces, feet, and knees; changing soiled clothes and even grass-stained underwear; I would've bid them all go play.

Mandy, however, holding on to my shoulder with one hand as I knelt to pick up one small bare foot, then the other, wiping with a warm washcloth, demanded, "What about our bums?"

I nearly dropped her leg as she helped raise her skirt unnecessarily high so I could do her knees; then she hung on to me longer than necessary, switched hands, inspected her scrubbed tanned flesh; skirt held higher than waist, pointed out 'missed' spots; abruptly stripped off panties and stood there, bare little cunny staring at me. I stared back.

By now her sisters had finished on the toilet, Sarah having wiped Suzie; both also stood half-naked, Suzie clapping and bouncing and squealing about bums, Sarah just watching after pushing the handle to flush, younger sister having suddenly forgotten the argument about the task.

"A-Alright... A-All of you... into the tub."

The din hit a crescendo but for Mandy's hesitation; Suzie achieved nudity in flash of pudgy pink, climbing into the tub as Sarah adopted a bit more measured pace in stripping what little clothing remained on her nicely rounded small body. Lankier elder sis, on the other hand, seemed reluctant, perhaps only because she thought she might be too old to bathe with her sisters; yet I could see curiosity vying with uncertainty in her dark elfin features, the latter winning out as she removed the rest of her kit and stood again, blatantly gazing into my eyes – which absorbed her slim dark anatomy before noting her study of me.

"You should wash too," she suggested, gaze dropping to my crotch, where a bulge evidenced my arousal.

"I... don't think... Let me fill the tub for you."

Changing the subject did not work; recalling the elder girl's scouting of me in this very bathroom a couple of years or so ago, not to mention fondl—I mean, washing all that delicious naked girlhood, pushed my cock virtually out of my jeans. Then Sarah demanded I wash her 'bump' while pointing to her cunny crease; whereupon I had to give anatomy lessons.

"This is your vulva." I thought nothing of the correction; it came naturally to me as correcting the spelling of their names. "This is your _bum_ , not _bump_." I gave it a good rubdown too.

"Me too! Me too!" Suzie clamoured.

"Mommy says this is our coochie," Mandy intervened. She washed herself, carefully watching how I treated her sisters and copying.

I then realised what I'd done. "Uhh... well, that's another name for it too."

"Boys have bums," eldest observed sagely.

"Yes," I agreed. "Everyone has a bum."

"Do you wash your bum?"

"Ummm... yeah..." I now believe she meant 'your _own_ bum', even though both questions were rhetorical.

"And your penis?" Once again, the subject was breached.

"Yes."

"Can we see it?"

I'm not sure to this day if silence descended because my ears thundered, or the kids all quieted in anticipation of my answer. "I... don't th-think..."

Silence didn't last long, as beseeching renewed. "Please, please... pleeeease...!"

I wasn't thinking; not being in our 'circle', doing such things with this family would be very risky. Regardless, despite some difficulty, as full arousal had long since been achieved, I took out my eager member, to rather gratifying gasps and _ooh_ s.

Suzie reached for it, but I took her hand away. "No, you’re not allowed to touch without asking."

More clamouring, naturally enough. Each could fit a hand around it, Suzie and Sarah rather clumsily squeezing and pulling, to which I offered more instruction. Mandy's fascination seemed equal to Carrie Lowell's; however, this tyke merely held it lightly, seeming in awe. Yet regardless of my sudden urgency to cum, I knew it wouldn't be a good idea.

Instead I took charge, reluctantly stowing my throbbing equipment to finish up baths; towelling off naked bodies; getting them into pjs; brushing long black hair and two unruly, curly blonde heads; ushering all downstairs.

I determined that Mandy would be amenable to more instruction, and trusted her to be quiet about it; her sisters, however, would be too likely to reveal something damning, even if we demanded secrecy of them. I could pass off any comments about them having seen my dick by telling their mom I must have accidentally left the bathroom door open, but anything else...

Thus, big girl and I sat on the couch, ostensibly reading, while sisters played on the floor. The minx endeavoured to wiggle closer and closer, till we were almost touching; jammy-clad slender leg next to my jeans radiated heat; little bare feet began gently swinging, one brushing my leg until it gradually slowed, coming to rest before, ever-so-slowly, bare toes scrunched and began an up-and-down stroking. The child continued to pretend to study her book – a Nancy Drew mystery, as I recall, as my sister used to read them (I read Hardy Boys, of course). When I could take no more, I put a hand lightly on a quivering jammied leg, stroking and squeezing a bit and murmuring that I had to go to the bathroom. Uncomfortably – due to crotch swelling – rose and went upstairs.

Expecting Mandy to follow, she did, no sooner than I'd sat on the toilet lid, leaving door ajar to ostensibly continue reading my comic.

This time Mandy stopped right at the entrance, looking in at me, dark eyes wide; in the face, to how I sat, and back. "Are you going pee?"

"No, boys don't have to sit to pee."

"I know."

I thought she didn't, really, despite watching me the last time as I pretended to be 'finishing'. Putting comic aside, I rose to open the door wider; accepting unspoken invitation, the girl almost skipped barefoot inside as I closed and locked it behind her. Unzipping my pants and even releasing my belt and lowering them a ways, I had somewhat less difficulty presenting my maleness to a single set of youthful eyes this time. Even so, I had a bit of a problem getting much of a piss sample to start for her, much less pass it though a half-hardon, but the youngster seemed impressed, nonetheless.

"Can I wipe it?"

"Boys don't have to wipe," I clarified, shaking it unduly. "But you can anyway."

Grabbing a couple squares of tp, I let go as she dabbed the tip; though no flesh made contact this time, she poked and changed angles, no doubt testing flexibility and whatever else. Gasped as it leapt, once more achieving full erection. "Wh... What happened?"

"You can't tell your mom about this, ok?"

Mandy nodded without taking gaze from my cock, which I grabbed again, giving it a stroke or two.

"This is an erection. It happens when boys see pretty girls sometimes."

She looked up. "Am I pretty?"

"Yes, you are. Do you want to touch it again?"

She shook her head.

 _Damn, this is no time to go shy!_ I cursed mentally. Maybe shyness trumped sibling rivalry. "Alright, you can watch me make it do something else. If you want."

No response; gaze fixated again on manhood.

"You can't tell your mom. Or your sisters."

Brief nod.

I began to jack off. As I got myself into it, it didn't take long; trying to aim into the toilet, grunted as I managed only to splatter the underside of the toilet seat, the bowl edge, and the wall.

Mandy gasped. "Was that... _pee_?"

"No, it's cum." I used the naughty word for it, but corrected myself. "Semen. Boys make it."

"Why?"

 _Uh-oh..._ I put myself away and cleaned up. "Uhh... you should ask your mom – but don't tell her where you heard those words."

Perhaps I was fortunate that children often forget such things until much later, and then don't remember what originally triggered their questions; even so, I very much doubt I traumatised any of the Kirby girls. I never heard anything further from them, yet their mother left me a Thank-You card with a brand new $20 bill in it (don't laugh; back then it was maybe fifty bucks!).

To this day I have no doubt she thanked me for babysitting her kids, nothing else.


	14. Only Sitter in Town - Pt 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _See Pts 1-13 for setup. I go on my first 'swinger' summer camping trip._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TAGS: _Nudism; voyeurism; exhibitionism; outdoor; oral; masturbation; m/b/g; all participants are fictional or of age to be involved in consensual sexual activity._

I'd sat for the Waynes a few times before we all went camping – in addition to them, the Sykes, Lowells, Ramseys, and us – to an isolated small lake a few hours drive through what I would call _forest_ , not Forestry 'roads'. We had to stop and chainsaw deadfalls and brush, fill in huge potholes, find another way around washouts after winching one or the other of my dad's and Mr. Lowell's 4x4s out, even build a 'bridge' or two – laying planks and logs across boggy puddles – for the Waynes' RV. (I recall Mr. Lowell being one crazy SOB who would venture anything in his new Chevy Blazer; more than once, I regretted not packing extra underwear when off-roading with him.)

Anyway, we finally made it and set up camp, us three in a big ten-or-twelve-person tent (I didn't think that odd at the time), the Lowells and Ramseys in their respective smaller ones, the Waynes, as mentioned, in their camper van; the Sykes would arrive later. All of us being tired after slogging through the bush and setting up, we barely managed to finish and get supper before dark, despite dusk coming late in those northern latitudes, even in late spring. Thus, that first night we all spent in our own accommodations; I remember just after lights out, Dad murmuring something to my stepmom about "nice mosquito bites you've got there". I thought it was funny, even if she wasn't amused; I heard a thump.

Of course, I had no idea how sleeping arrangements would soon be altered, following another surprise.

Next day started out cool and a bit rainy, so no one got naked – or stayed that way very long – until early afternoon, when my stepmom and Mrs. Ramsey got down to bras and panties. I had not seen Mrs. R in any state of undress before, but I was fully apprised of naturist etiquette – if not 'normal' etiquette – of not staring. So, I tried not to, even though Mrs. R's rack rivalled Mrs. Sykes' – and, I thought, looked better on her somewhat larger frame.

I sought the Lowell and Wayne kids; we were all for skinny-dipping, but the weather refused to cooperate thus far, and besides, the blackflies and skeeters were bad. Thus, we had to settle for some fishing – bugs didn't follow you out on the water – fully clad, at first. When the sun came out at last, we happily stripped down. Only Carrie and Toby accompanied me in their family's small motorboat; the girl now about seven, her brother, five; Kayla, at two, was yet too young. (The Waynes would have to wait, as the only other boat we had was a canoe, and an adult had to accompany kids in it; although at 15 I was considered one for that purpose, I couldn't be in two places at once.)

Despite this being years before life jackets were mandatory, parents insisted that I make sure the kids wore theirs, plus hats, and thus trussed them back up after stowing clothes. First, I smeared suntan lotion all over them (it wasn't yet called 'sunblock'), especially on tenderest parts. As by now our sex play could be considered commonplace, it took no time at all for hands to wander, even little bare feet. Carrie, the minx, started it by playing footsie with my cock, grinning and giggling as I baited her hook – then again, I had oiled her little slit especially well. Toby ignored us; I'd already set him up, yet his rod lay all but forgotten across his lap as he trailed one hand in the water while we puttered in neutral, the other one absently rubbing his little dickie where I'd left off.

"You have to hold on to your rods and keep them out straight," I told both kids as I put their lines out, "or we'll get all tangled up." I put the outboard in gear. "Or you might even lose it if a fish bites and pulls it away."

Carrie had other rods in mind. "I want to play with your dickie."

"DICKIE!" Toby shouted, coming to life.

"Shhh! You'll scare the fish."

It seemed the pair didn't care much about fishing just then. I sighed, in truth not much put out at all. "Alright. Put your rods in these holders. Careful." I leaned back, balancing the boat and trying to steer as two little bodies repositioned themselves to take hold of my tackle. Trying not to close my eyes but keep a lookout where we were going, I nonetheless relaxed; the kids were by now very good at jerking me, both knowing just how to grip it and keep time with each other. Hard in no time, I allowed the sun and fresh air to carry me away, until I felt the urgency building.

"Uh," I grunted, "cumming..."

Just then all hell broke loose as my fishing rod plus one of the kids' simultaneously started peeling line, sizzling as if in crescendo with my climax. Despite their best efforts, Carrie even getting her warm little mouth on the spasming head of my cock, cum shot all over, splattering life jackets, aluminum boat, tanned fleshy bits. Part in bliss and part panicked, I yelled, joining childish shouts of excitement as I tried to sort out whose fish to deal with first while recovering from my orgasm. Frantically reeling in the empty one and laying it aside, I had to get both kids to hang onto my _fishing_ rod – good thing by now they had practice sharing 'rods' – since their fish seemed quite large. Between us, we managed to land them both successfully. And to this day I still get hard at the sound of peeling fishing line.

Toby and Carrie were so excited they wanted to show off their fish right away, so we headed in. By this time pretty much everyone else appeared to have stripped down to underwear or less, so, after cleaning the fish – showing the little ones how to do it, which didn't gross them out in the least – and stowing them in a cooler, I thought to saunter over to the Wayne's spot to see if anything similar had occurred and invite them for a trip in the boat. I got the Lowell kids sorted with shoes and shirts against scratches and sunburn, plus some bug repellent, and left them to their own play; although they wanted to go fishing again – perhaps actually to fish – I told them it was the Waynes' turn.

Just then I detected another vehicle coming through the bush; the Sykes weren't due for another day, so I took some alarm at this 'intrusion'. I turned around and told my stepmom that someone was coming, but she just nodded, displaying that mischievous smile of hers. Mrs. R – topless as well – looked equally unperturbed; they were setting mosquito netting around a playpen for the Ramsey kids (a baby and toddler, you'll recall), and Kayla Lowell.

Shrugging, I walked back the other way – having donned my own shoes (so, call me 'tenderfoot') – arriving at the Waynes' site to find Mr. in only undershorts and sandals, chopping wood. Now, these days he would be described as a 'bear', and not just because he had long black hair and beard, and was virtually a walking bear rug, not to mention almost the size of one. Even so, though the bulge at his crotch suggested quite the package, I knew it didn't quite measure up to Mr. Lowell's. But a nicer guy you may never meet.

"Kids 'n' missus over there, changing." Pointed to nearby van with square jaw, beard flapping as the axe arced overhead and another block split effortlessly – _WHACK!_ Sweat glistened in matted body hair. "G'on if ya want."

I told him someone was coming, but I don't think he heard me as the axe cracked again. Eyeing the arriving camper truck entering our _private_ cleared area, I stepped around the tarpaulin wall of the lean-to they'd erected around their van's sliding side door. "Hi—uhh..."

Mother, son, daughter, sat, bent, stood, under the tarp in various states of undress amongst jumbled clothing and camping paraphernalia.

"Oh, hey, J***," Mrs. greeted me. Tall, lithe, brown-haired, she struggled in bra, on pantied butt atop a camp stool, pulling off her slacks. Son Brian, now about 11, bent at the waist, removing his shirt. Daughter Laura, 13-ish, stood naked in the van's open doorway except for her own bra and panties; the former she undid and tossed inside as I entered the open side of the tarp shelter.

"S-Sorry." I made to turn away.

"Don't be silly," Mrs. admonished. "In fact, you're just in time to help."

 _Help?_ Assessing Brian and Laura, now both nude and arguing about something, I flashed back to when we first met.


	15. Only Sitter in Town - Pt 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _See Pts 1-14 for setup. As my babysitting career begins to wind down, I reflect on one or two jobs I've not yet mentioned._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TAGS: _Nudism; voyeurism; exhibitionism; oral; masturbation; m/g/b; all participants are fictional or of age to be involved in consensual sexual activity._

At only 13 myself, it didn't take long before I noted some resentment from Laura, 11 or maybe 12-ish then; turned out she thought herself too old to have a babysitter barely older than her, but perhaps more so resented the attention I soon gave her younger sibling. Brian, on the other hand, at nine, greeted me with enthusiasm; surely, he saw me as a big brother, eagerly wanting to engage me in checking out his toys – G.I. Joe, big dump truck, slot cars, and so on. As I wasn't really past that stage myself, I didn't have to be persuaded. (It should be noted we were all clothed, for the time being; I wasn't certain they were nudists like us, but strongly suspected so, given my 'introductory' history thus far, save for the Kirbys.)

Laura as much as locked herself in her room, and I forgot about her – till much later when she brought herself to my attention. And then some.

"J***."

I looked up toward Brian's open bedroom door – and dropped whatever I was building with his Tinkertoys. Plainly evidenced by tight red shorts and brief white tank top she'd changed into, Laura's physical development appeared much farther advanced than any 11-or-12-year-old I'd ever met. And you'll recall what I said about girls being natural teases; this preteen already had that sense well-developed too; aside from scant clothing, she stood leaning against the doorjamb on one smooth shoulder, opposite arm draped over her head, one leg bent, its foot behind the other poised on folded bare toes, hip thrust exaggeratedly. (I have since tried replicating the pose myself and failed miserably; must be a girl thing.)

She had my attention now.

I could not fail to take in the fact that the girl had lost all vestigial baby fat; long, well-defined legs; hips – discounting posture – slightly flared to tapered waist; tummy flat and even noticeably rippled (she was a dancer or skater or something); little breast-buds in evidence above low-scooped lacy neckline; neck long and graceful; high cheekbones; deep, wide-set brown eyes; long, black hair like her father's only straighter, tossed carelessly over other shoulder, toyed with by the hand dangling from her head.

I'd had crushes before, always on much older, famous girls like Ursula Andress and Raquel Welch; this felt... different. I couldn't speak.

Laura smirked, doubtless quite satisfied with the effect she had successfully engendered. Repeated, "J***."

"Y-Yes? Wh-What?"

Brian snorted, all at once falling outside my awareness.

"I want to play."

"Wh-What?" I repeated stupidly.

"Get outta my room!" Brian tossed a small Tinkertoy at his sister; missed, bouncing off the hallway wall into the carpet.

"Jerk! I'm not in your stupid room. And I'm not talking to you." She straightened, indignant.

"Uh... Brian... don't throw things. Umm... Wh-what do you want to play, Laura?"

"Twister."

"I'm playing too!"

Although I'm sure all readers are familiar with the game, it may be important to note that Twister was relatively new at the time, and I had played it with my siblings and cousins, as well as the Lowells. Perhaps needless to say, then, it can be quite... suggestive, especially in shorts, skirts, loose clothing or, of course, no clothing. (If you don't know the game or what I mean, Google 'Twister Zsa Zsa Gabor'.)

So, Twister, then. Happily, I discovered that the Waynes played with special rules similar to ours – as well as, I quickly discovered, some of their own variations. We set up the mat, and I soon found myself bent backward, spider-like, Brian half under one leg, Laura's tight little ass pressed against my other thigh. Awkwardly (acting as referee), I spun the dial; Laura, rising from a squat to lift a leg over my arm, brought her butt and camel-toe (we didn't call it that back then) into even closer view, especially as she straightened spread, muscled legs, raising little ass high. Brian was left in almost the same position, so when I spun again, I 'had to' reach over Laura with my opposite hand, thus pushing my nose practically up her little cunt.

She giggled, compact body quivering as I spun once more; she scooted one leg back, stretching uncannily so that her incredibly tight butt now thrust almost directly under my crotch. The odour of girl-sweat permeated my senses, further hardening my dick as I scoped her mostly bared, defined back, bra-strap in evidence under the near-sheer material. Brian reached under me too, placing a hand on the one I'd just relocated; an illegal move, so I made him choose another. Both kids chortled as I spun the dial; trying to move one or the other foot, I failed, somewhat on purpose; falling atop both, especially Laura, she couldn't help but feel my swelling member rub against her pert ass. (Normally I'm quite competitive, but these were kids, and anyway, I wanted to see where this would go.)

"ONE OFF! ONE OFF!" they both chanted, jumping up and grinning.

I knew what they meant; removed my shirt – having already taken off my socks, partly because bare feet slide less on the mat, and partly to even the odds, given that both kids were clad only in tops and shorts. And underwear.

I saw Brian's first; his little pecker tented his tighty-whiteys, later nearly poking me in the eye before his sister lost her top. Whereupon I confirmed the girl wore a training bra, which her brother protested as 'no fair', being of course an extra piece of clothing neither of us guys wore. A brief argument ensued, which I was about to end by letting the preteen keep her bra – for now – when she ended it herself, decisively pulling off the offending undergarment and throwing it on the carpet.

"Fine! There!" Thrust her chest out defiantly – which, aside from huge puffy nipples, evidenced twin bee-stings, perhaps slightly more pronounced due to her athleticism, one a bit larger than the other (normal, at that stage, actually).

I found the sight intensely erotic, and my cock wanted freedom. Shortly achieving it as I fell and divested myself of final garment, I spun out the remaining turns to determine the winner – namely, the last one with an article of clothing left on.

Laura, wicked smile directed at me and my twitching dick, shucked her shorts, displaying pink panties with little blue flowers on the crotch. The pair managed to twist themselves around each other, Brian rubbing groin against sis' leg.

"Cut it out!" she scolded.

Chuckling, he then had to duck under her; I think he kissed a nipple, but couldn't quite tell from my vantage.

"Stupid jerk! Quit it!"

"Kids," I advised. "Play nice or I put it away."

"He's... cheating!" Laura accused.

"Am not."

"Are too!"

"Kids! Enough. Right foot, red."

All the red spots lay on the other side of her brother. The minx deliberately pushed him over to get at one, inciting another argument about whom had just lost or cheated. I settled it rather cleverly, I thought.

"Both of you were cheating, so both of you lose. ONE OFF... each."

They looked at me, then each other; Laura opened her mouth to argue some more, but impulsiveness once again took over. Repeated the bra performance with panties. "Fine! There!"

Sibling only laughed, "Haha!" as he kicked off his gonch.

"LAST ONE," the nude girl announced, arms akimbo, chin thrust almost as far as puffy chest. Her girl-crease also appeared swollen; shockingly, to me, clit protruded such that I'd never seen on a girl her age – then again, I didn't have a whole lot of experience with naked girls her age. My cock threatened explosion; I willed it to partially subside.

I didn't know what they meant, so Laura explained. "Last game – winner gets to dare the losers."

I thought I would like this variation, thus meant to lose. Yet, losing wasn't difficult, as Brian was small and wiry; Laura, as I've implied, incredibly flexible. Besides, with a moistened bare cunny rubbing an arm – I swear I could feel her hard little girl-button pressing my skin as well – and a circumcised stubby pecker this time humping _my_ leg, not to mention my now-straining cock brushing nubile flesh everywhere I turned, I very much wanted to see this game's finale – before cumming accidentally all over game mat and delectable preteen skin.

"YAY! I win!" Laura chortled, looking at me. She now stood as well. "Kiss Brian's willie."

"Penis," I automatically corrected. If I wasn't sure they were into the open lifestyle, this commandment put all questions to rest; and even if not entirely within the 'rules', I thought it couldn't hurt. Therefore, I did so, planting a fleeting peck on the tip of the boy's erect two-ish-incher, licking pee and slight saltiness from my lips.

He giggled, trembling a little.

"Now kiss mine."

"Your...?"

"Cunny."

"This," I clarified, taking a little more time to inhale girl-scents, "is your vulva." I pressed my lips against her slightly protruding inner labia, essayed an upward lick, nipping swollen pink bud on the way. Laura jumped, making a little sound; I supposed no one had done that to her before.

"N-Now... uh... touch m-me... it. H-Here. And h-his."

"Where?"

"M-My... v-vulva. Brian's... penis."

Although I thought this certainly stretched even made-up rules, again I saw no reason to argue; gave each delectable crotch a few strokes and caresses, going so far as to slicken my index finger with spit and girl-juice, inserting it a tiny fraction in Laura, even nibbling on Brian's little prick; both kids gasped and made other small sounds of gratification.

Unfortunately, that was the full extent of that game, but next time they took turns jacking me off; I armed them with a towel against random fire, but apparently, they'd seen a guy cum before. Then I alternated between them, bring them both off orally and manually. Of course, little enough clear fluid leaked from Brian's tiny firm pecker as he shook and grunted, but Laura's sweet pink cunt ejected a squirt or two of juice as I brought her to squirming orgasm, index finger half inserted while tonguing her angry little clitty.

_Delicious!_


	16. Only Sitter in Town - Pt 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _See Pts 1-15 for setup. Our summer camping trip continues as I try to get the Wayne girl into fishing, while she doesn't have to try very hard to interest me in her._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TAGS: _No sex; nudism; voyeurism; exhibitionism; outdoor; m/f/b; all participants are fictional or of age to be involved in consensual sexual activity._

We had two nuisance doggages in camp with us, one a small terrier-type belonging to the Ramseys; he'd hilariously start a four-footed paddle if you held him out over the lake (I recall he did that over bathwater as well). Of course us kids tormented him by dropping him in once in a while, but even though he really didn't like water – would immediately swim out, shake off, and never went in on his own – naturally he wasn't harmed in any way. But otherwise he'd make a nuisance of himself, wanting to follow us everywhere and play with him; wet, he'd go lie down somewhere till he dried.

At the other extreme the Waynes' big Chocolate Labrador loved to swim; we could toss sticks and balls and whatever, and she'd retrieve them till we tired, long before she ever would. Unsurprisingly, strutting repeatedly out of the lake, stick in jaws, she made a point of getting as close to as many naked people as possible before shaking, showering everyone in range amidst a chorus of shrieks and yelling. But if we weren't throwing stuff for her, she'd go off by herself, doubtless hunting grouse and squirrels and whatever through the bush (though as far as I'm aware she never actually caught any, and bears etc. never caught her).

Anyway, the dogs will come into play later. I only bring them up now because I stared as Laura, stepping out of white panties and now quite nude, descended the step from their van, stooped to pick up their dog's water bowl, round ass pointing at me; filling it from a container on a camp table, bent again at the waist, long, skater's legs straight, lightly fuzzed cleft aimed at my eye as she placed it back on the ground.

"Laura!" Mrs. W, hands on bare round hips, stood scowling at her daughter, blue-eyed gaze stern though not angry, as she laid her slacks aside. "Was that _completely_ necessary? Have we not talked about that sort of thing?"

The girl started; recovering quickly, rolled brown eyes (her father's). "Yes, Mother."

"Don't take that tone with me, young lady. Apologise to J***."

"Sorry, J***." She didn't look it.

"That's... all r-right."

"No, it isn't," Mrs. W contradicted. "Laura, look what you've done to the poor boy."

 _Indeed..._ Much too late, I noted that the towel I'd absently tucked around my waist had erected its own tent; I moved my hands in front of my crotch. In the girl's defence, my condition couldn't be entirely attributed to her blatant tease; her mother's tits rose high and proud, not spectacularly large but round and symmetrical, sporting huge dark areolae and suckable nipples. Not to mention her crotch, the second shaven one I'd seen; cuntlips dangled enticingly.

" _Mo-oOM!_ "

"We've also talked about how teasing can only go so far."

"Yes, Mom." Once more, the glint in the teen's eye looked far more coquettish that contrite.

"Alright, then." Mrs. turned to me. "What can we do for you, J*** – other than what Laura will be doing for you later?"

I gulped, cock twitching terrycloth against my palms. "Uhh... I... uhh... I wondered if L‑Laura and Brian wanted to go... uhh... f‑fishing now."

"I don't like—"

"Laura."

"Oh, okay." The nude girl turned in profile as she gathered a bright pink towel, tossed it over one shoulder; cocked a dark eyebrow at me. I suppose she couldn't help being a tease; I think most of it came naturally to her, however – at least to me, everything she did appeared powerfully erotic, deliberate or not.

"Can we go now?" Brian sounded exasperated, already carrying his own fishing gear and navy towel. Although much distracted by his sister, I vaguely noted the boy's decent penis, pubescent fuzz barely apparent; though finer than mine, his pubes looked thicker, being dark as opposed to my pale blonde. In contrast, Laura's—

"No," their mother intervened again. "Suntan lotion first. I was going to get you to help me, J***, but I think Laura owes you now. Brian, let me get your back for you. And make sure you both get your ears and nose."

The boy addressed his mother in much the same way for which his sister had just been scolded, though his tone was merely annoyed, not rude.

"Do me first?" Laura handed me a bottle of Coppertone.

I momentarily got caught again in her almost-innocent wide brown eyes; hesitantly applied coconut-smelling oil to tanned, muscled back as she placed hands flat atop a camp table and bent forward a little, legs parted just a tad. I couldn't stop shaking, sorely tempted to grope—err... treat tight round ass whilst at it; I felt, rather than heard, chuckling. Returning the favour, she slathered my lily-white back (I didn't tan, just burnt), nudged my towel a little lower than necessary, exposing my ass-crack; a solitary finger essayed the beginning of the southern trail. I jumped.

" _Laur-aaa..._ "

"Yes, Mom."

"OH! I, uh... Mrs. W-Wayne... I almost forgot – s‑someone's coming. I mean, h‑here. Coming h‑here." Added, "In a camper."

"Really? Why don't you go see who it is?"

"Like _this_?" I meant nude, but my condition had not improved much either.

"Hmm... perhaps not just yet, then," Mrs. W advised. I got the feeling this 'interloper' was not unexpected. "Well, why don't you kids go fishing? Find out who it is when you get back."

I looked at the sibs, but they appeared as blank as I felt.

"Alright, have fun now."

As we emerged from under the tarp, I checked around for the newcomers, but only saw Dad and Mr. Lowell – both quite naked, the latter's hirsuteness unmistakeable – directing the camper truck into a spot under some trees on the far edge of our clearing. Obviously, the newcomers would now be apprised of the fact that they were in the presence of nudists; there appeared to be three people in the cab.

"Are we going, or what?" Laura demanded somewhat crossly.

My curiosity would have to wait. Taking in her slender nubile body again, I swallowed, the thought of what she may do to make up for her teasing taking over.

Naturally, I fully expected the little flirt to either continue or make up for her naughtiness in the boat, but I don't know if she hesitated due to the presence of her brother; I suspect she refrained simply to draw out the tease a little longer – again, who could tell as to premeditation? I managed to keep my cock – if not my thoughts – mostly under control as I helped set up her gear. Laura really wasn't into fishing, however; watching me thread a worm onto her hook, wrinkled cute brown nose coated in white lotion – which thrust the thought into my addled brain of seeing her face painted with my cum, as I'd seen in porn pix, in turn threatening to upset the boat as my cock lunged at her bait. I tried to surreptitiously rearrange my towel over it but sat on too much. I pulled her line out, set the drag, handed her the rod. Lascivious glance lifted from my dick to it, expression altering as though I offered a live snake; reluctantly, she accepted it, sitting stiffly though legs thankfully together.

Just as things generally go, somewhat later Laura caught the only fish; I tried coaching her to reel and play it while Brian shouted contradictions and orders. She bade me sit next to her and 'help', so, thigh-to-warm-thigh, I held the nubile girl in a semi-embrace, one hand over hers working the reel's crank, the other covering the one holding her rod. I was glad our movements and the fish's struggles (mostly) disguised my trembling at this exquisite proximity; I couldn't help pressing my oily chest into her equally slippery, solid back and shoulder. Eventually getting fish to boat, I netted it and decided it was a decent keeper, but Laura refused to touch it, making that face again.

"Can we just let it go?"

Brian argued for its size being perfectly legal, and so why let it go, but I said it belonged to his sister and she could do what she wanted with it. Thus, I released the creature.

"Can we go in now?"

Of course, her brother vehemently argued against this notion as well, so we stayed a while longer. Yet, wouldn't you know it, that was the only bite any of us got, let alone fish. In any case, my curiosity about our visitors by had now become irresistible.

As we approached shore, I saw a familiar honey-blonde-haired figure. I should think I'd recognise her, as she happened to be my girlfriend, although I hadn't seen her totally nude before – at least, not at this age. Fortunately, I had time to check her out before we beached, despite having to concentrate at least a little on cutting the outboard and lifting it as we drifted into the shallows and scraped bottom.

Thinking of bottoms, I couldn’t decide if Faye's best feature was her round ass or equally full, high breasts. I couldn't believe this stunning girl had agreed to 'go steady' (the '50s and '60s term had pretty much fallen into disuse by my day, although the implication of exclusivity no longer applied in any event; still, the term sufficed). Considering her exquisite, curvy form as she helped tie the boat to a tree, turning back to smile at me, I had to reflect on how much better she looked in full glory, as opposed to the first couple of times we stole make-out opportunities, or even prior to that.

"Surprise!" Grin broadening, Faye cheekily stood arms akimbo on the gravelly beach, our wake gently lapping over her thongs (flip-flops were called 'thongs', back then). I think my heart may well have stopped, or at least blocked my throat.


	17. Sister Summers - Pt 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> See _Only Sitter in Town Pts 1-16_ for setup. I flashback to an earlier sleepover during one of my first summer visits with my sister with our father and stepmother.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TAGS: Voyeurism; exhibitionism; light kissing; cd; implied oral/masturbation; b/b/g/g/g/g; all participants are fictional or of age to be involved in consensual sexual activity.

Throughout early high school I slavered after one of Faye's best friends, Brenda, partly because I have always been more attracted to brunettes – the darker and more athletic the better – and partly because Faye was quarry for almost every guy in school, and I felt I had no chance, even though she seemed to change boyfriends more often than I changed underwear. Nonetheless, my crush on her started the day I had a sleepover with Brenda's younger brother, Brian (not Brian Wayne; these people, the Dimitrioses, owned a local fishing lodge).

My dad and stepmom had been friends with the Ds some time before my sister and I spent aforementioned summers there prior to my moving, so I'm fairly certain of some collusion in setting us up, because as I recall I hadn't been great friends with their son – as mentioned, a grade or two younger than me. Brenda and I would eventually be in the same class, as were her friends, Faye and Cathy. However, this being me and my sister D's first summer visit, I think we were set up to become friends, since we knew no other kids around there. (To this day, I have no idea if our respective parental units knew of my crush on Brenda, although parents are more aware of what's going on than children might like to believe, even if our open lifestyles hid little or nothing from one another.) In any case, we were all only about 11 or 12 at most; this meant that D was actually Brian's age, but whatever; although it's important to some kids at that stage, it really didn't matter to us.

What mattered was the layout of their big, rambling house, part business and part home; essentially, two separate though attached buildings, a private dwelling over their store/restaurant, the other consisting of lodgings for rent. We kids were allotted two rooms in the latter for the visit, a double for the four girls and a single for us two boys. I don't recall being too excited about this excursion; I'd always been an introvert, and didn't know any of these people. Still, Mr. and Mrs. D had as much as given me a very good Fenwick flyrod I still have to this day, my first ever (their friendship with my parents earned me a huge discount on it, plus a reel, line, etc.). Thus, I had reason to think they were good people. Little did I know...

So, coincidental sleepovers...

The imbalance of girls to boys in this situation turned out extremely favourable to us guys, although we wouldn't realise that for a while. I seem to recall that both of us acted more than a bit intimidated; giggly girls seemed everywhere, determined to tease and even bully, albeit not aggressively. Regardless, Brian and I made ourselves scarce, staying out of sight as much as possible, else becoming targets for jokes, wedgies, water-balloons, and so on. Otherwise an afternoon passed un-memorably; we retreated to our room after a BBQ supper, when parents were around to supervise the evil girls; there, we spent I-don't-know-how-long doing I-don't-remember-what, before finally going to sleep in the same bed.

And were awakened by screeching girls raiding our room and ripping off bedclothes, absconding with sleeping attire before we could make out what the hell was going on. Before I knew it, I fought for my dignity against Faye and Brenda, who managed to pull off my pj bottoms and run, shrieking, in their own nighties or babydolls, back to their room. Too busy pulling sheets over myself to aid my roomie, I watched, dumbfounded, as he jumped up and chased after Cathy and my sister, bottomless as I, little dick pointing the way, cheekily rounding out the door.

"Help me!" he shouted on the way past.

Amid gleeful screaming and shouting I heard five pair of bare feet slapping along the common wooden outdoor walk that linked the rooms on our upper floor; shoving blankets and dignity aside in favour of revenge – and prurience – I charged after them. Had the four girls thought to hold their door against the both of us at once, they probably could have done so; but, my joining Brian against only two or three of them proved sufficient to power us through; we landed in a heap of nightie-clad girl-flesh, plus Brian's half-nakedness; who could tell whose was whose, and again, who cared? I revelled in acute contact – Brian poked me pretty good in the flank, while I prodded and groped here and there – before he and I manfully ganged up two-against-one, stripping babydoll tops and panties from one and all females, despite the other three trying to hold on or drag us away.

By the time screaming, giggling girls coordinated themselves, two sitting on me – _Gaawd,_ that was erotic! – while another tried and failed to help Cathy keep her panties from Brian's grasp, the game was pretty much over. Or perhaps it had just started. We all sat around, excited, sweaty, out of breath, staring at one another, all I'm sure wondering what to do now. Other than look.

I took my time, and all but Cathy exhibited little shyness about either observing or being scrutinised. Naturally, I checked out Brenda first.

We sat mostly on the carpeted floor in a sort-of circle, Cathy to my left; Brian next to her, still holding her white cotton panties and dreamily 'feeling' them between his fingers; Faye and Brenda on one of the beds; D on my right. Brenda had one gangly leg tucked under the other, whose foot scuffed the bedside bearskin rug; peeking beyond rumpled sheets, I could just make out top of bare cleft beneath flat tummy; chest all ribs and stiff brown nipples. Short black hair hung mussed, bangs not obscuring dark-eyed gaze resting upon me, much less cute scattering of freckles. I felt my dick stir; hoped my cross-legged pose disguised usual shenanigans.

Faye sat similarly cross-legged, one pale knee touching Brenda's; long, honeyed tresses draped behind chunky shoulders; bright blue eyes alternating between me and Brian. In contrast with her gawky dark friend, the blonde retained a lot of baby fat; tiny tits evinced slightly more development, albeit not much more than puffy nipples as well; sadly, through slightly pudgy legs, matching arms resting casually atop them, I couldn't see her cunny at all from my vantage, but tummy appeared nicely rounded.

Glancing at Cathy next to me, I observed curly brown locks jutting untidily as the girl studied the bear rug; hugging knees to chest, chin atop them, she seemed to tremble; I wanted to touch her, to comfort as well as grope, but knew better than to simply reach and take. Not being in our family circle of siblings and cousins, I didn't yet know how to behave in such situations, much less initiate anything.

But, have I mentioned the brashness of my sister, D? It may be that the girls had already 'played' amongst themselves, and so it took no great leap of audacity on her part to take the next step. "Let's play Show or Dare."

Titters; Cathy remained as if a rooted quaking aspen.

D continued, "I'll start." I'd always hated her bossiness; we used to call her 'Mother', as a mean joke, or even 'Old Mother Hubbard'; yet I think she secretly felt proud of the moniker.

"Brian, put on Cathy's panties."

Giggles turned to laughter, and even Cathy herself looked up, as if forgetting to be shy for an instant of curiosity. Quickly hiding her face again, however, I began to get more intrigued at seeing what the girl kept from us; I recalled glimpsing quite significant boobs during the earlier mayhem; and picturing them in my mind now, I could not fit what I retained in memory on any of the other girls. I knew about her scars—

"ORRRRRR?!" everyone else chanted.

"Kiss her."

Not very reluctantly, I thought, Brian rose, donning the girl's cotton undies over stiff little pecker; they were a bit too big on him. Though he tried to pull jammy top over the works, it didn't stretch. He sat, hunched over, still vainly trying to hide stuff.

"Your turn, J***."

I didn't have to think much. "Brenda, sh-show me your b-bum."

"ORRRRRRRRRR?!"

"Kiss m—y sister." Of course, I wanted to say 'me', but, coward that I was...

Brenda didn't hesitate, scooting over on the bed and leaning to plant a little peck on D's lips. I didn't feel disappointed; the game was just warming up, and I caught a glimpse of hidden cleft.

Cathy tried to skip her turn, but her friends were relentless. "B‑Brian," she finally quavered, "let m‑me see your—m‑my... panties." The curly brunette didn't appear as though she would look, whether or not the boy complied.

"Nuh-uhh..." D intervened. "You have to say, 'show me'."

Although Cathy probably screwed up on purpose, we voted to give her another chance.

"ORRRRRRRRR?!"

"Take off your p-pyjama top."

We all groaned, but the choice wasn't quite as simple as it first seemed, since the boy would have even less to hide beneath. Nonetheless, he took it off, not having to stand to do so, though staying leaned forward, avid gaze following all goings-on. A typical 10-ish-year-old, Brian had a way to go before filling out skinny frame, shallow chest, thin limbs.

Faye, in her naturally quiet voice, looked at me. I held my breath again as those baby-blues penetrated my heart, beginning to displace her dark friend; but she requested, "Brenda, show me your butt."

I _loved_ her!

"ORRRRRRRRR?!"

"Kiss J***."

_And I thought couldn't possibly love her more..._

Disappointingly, Brenda complied with the letter of 'show me', scooting up on knees while keeping a blanket or nightie over her lap, pointing narrow little ass at blonde friend before sitting primly once more.

It appeared that Brenda contemplated me now during her turn, but, turning to her shy friend beside me, bade her, "Cathy, show us your body."

Now, technically, the rules of our game, such as they were, required a statement of 'show _me_ ', but after careful deliberation by our Rules Committee – in this case D and Brenda – an amendment was passed, and Cathy had to show 'us'.

"ORRRRRRRRRRR?!"

"Tell us your secret." Brenda added gently, "It's all right."

I didn't know whether she referred to it being all right that her friend revealed her body or a secret. Either way, I felt intrigued.

Cathy stood. I sucked in my breath, gaping as she turned, head down, trembling as though her knees may give way; mottled reddish-and-pink-and-brown scars ran the left length of the biggest girl's upper body; shoulder, chest, neck, as well as wrist and arm. I knew that Cathy had been burned as a small child when a camp stove had exploded almost in her face, but all I had seen of her disfigurement had been some scarring on her left cheek, neck, and ear, as well as wrist; now, the extent of her injuries lay bared for us.

Still, I thought, it didn't detract from her cuteness; although the top of one small breast bore marks, both were far and away the largest in our group (yet still not even an A-cup, if I had to guess now). Her body was thick, too; not obese, yet more than simply waiting to shed baby fat; a little taller than Brenda, though hardly any evidence of waist beginning to distinguish hips from torso; a few light pubescent hairs at crotch. Pretty, in her own special way, even more so when she finally deigned to look up, above round, flushed cheeks, eagerness for acceptance plain to read through fear in light brown eyes.

I'm not sure I did anything but stare, although Brian whistled. Again, he may have meant it in sympathy, but the girl blushed further, sitting down between us once more as she stole a shy glance and offered him a tentative smile. This time she didn't huddle into herself yet didn't relax, either.

"See?" Brenda offered. "You're not ugly." She got up to put some music on – unfortunately some girly stuff like Shaun Cassidy or whatever – but I hardly noticed, instead following slender tan-lined buttocks over to her dresser and back; as she sat on her bed again, I caught another glimpse of shy crease that only whetted my appetite for more. She also broke out some chips and Coke, which we consumed nervously.

The game continued a couple more rounds, 'Shows' and 'Dares' getting slightly bolder, including a choice between my donning someone's nightie or kissing my sister – I chose the latter – but Brian went all the way, seeming to relish dressing up in girls' clothes rather than kissing one, something I didn't understand at the time, but passed off as simply odd, not aberrant (we'd already begun to be taught tolerance, though weren't yet cognisant of terms like 'gay' etc.). The howls of laughter his performance created brought parental wrath down upon us for disturbing guests, so we were banished to our own rooms for the rest of the night.

I realise now that the wet dream I had that night likely never happened; Brian either blew me or jacked me off in my sleep, as I dreamed of his sister. And Faye. And Cathy. And perhaps even my sister.


	18. Sister Summers - Pt 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> See _Only Sitter in Town Pts 1-16_ and _Sister Summers Pt 1_ for setup. My sister and I enjoy the freedom of new bikes and a lot of independence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TAGS: Nudism; voyeurism; exhibitionism; outdoor; incest; frottage; groping; dry-humping; 'birth'; 'doctor'; b/g; M/b/g; b/g; b/g/g/g/g; all participants are fictional or of age to be involved in consensual sexual activity.

It behoves me to return to those two summers with my sister, since much that happened then became intrinsic to my future sexual development in many respects. I have already explained our anatomy, reproductive, and other lessons from our mother, and how we had almost total freedom these summers – both Dad and Stepmom worked the same shifts in a mine – and so we were left free to do pretty much what we wanted, except when they were on night shift and slept during the day. Still fine with us; we just headed outside, biking the five-ish miles (8km) into town or in the other direction, perhaps a little shorter, to the D's resort. If it rained, we even had an older couple who had a vacation home a few doors down, also good friends of Dad's; doubtless, they would be called paedophiles, but I have nothing but good memories of them (other than their names).

We were allowed to go nude at their place, and they often did as well. His hairiness – other than the white bald patch atop round head – beat all I'd seen until Mr. Lowell's fur; otherwise a rotund, pot-bellied stature that almost hid his little cock, except while we played near him and it put in an appearance. I remember D sitting on his lap more than once, bracing hands on age-splotched thighs and rocking back-and-forth, rubbing little slit along stiffened prick. I'd get down between pale wrinkly knees to peer in fascination, hands wandering over them both, watching and listening as her climax built with little mewling sounds before she gasped, "Oh-oh-oh-oh!" followed by his grunts and extra thrusts that looked to launch my little sister from his lap. As semen dribbled from the fat purple head, I'd reach to slather it around, fingering D's slick little cunny as she twitched and yelped, still sensitive. I did it with him a few times myself, climaxing with the old man as D and his wife watched; for some reason she never touched either of us other than to towel us off, with D's help (her 'mothering' instincts showing, probably). I wanted to check out her greyness below hanging belly and saggy tits, but...

I retain a few other memories of those summers, as well as others on the farm with our cousins and remaining siblings – but, first things first.

D and I were ecstatic at having a new mustang bike each, and as I've suggested, thought nothing of roaming on our own several miles from home. I should clarify that the area was far from urban; the main townsite had only about 2000 people, a few hundred more scattered rurally like us, between the resorts (there were two) and a native 'reserve' (I happen to hate that word, by the way). Despite the nearest town of maybe 5-6K being at least an hour's drive, it should go without saying that we couldn't go naked all the time, even during high summer; in fact, probably the only times were around home, where neighbours were few and not close, at least at first; playing inside at the D's lodge; or across the big lake at their nudist camp – but that is a story to which I will get later.

D and I meanwhile explored and discovered; avoiding bears to plunder the dump, where we'd salvage stuff to build forts; roam the fisheries gates and channels, dry in the off-season; fish the nearby river, finding waterfalls and tiny caves where we'd build fires to cook our catch; gorge ourselves sick on wild strawberries, raspberries, huckleberries; play 'house', naturally butt naked insofar as weather, bugs, brush, and isolation would allow.

We were seldom all that sexual when alone, and I'm not sure why. Certainly, we examined one another, groped and dry-humped, especially when playing 'Mom and Dad', but I believe it had something to do with both of us being exhibitionists and usually needing an audience to become stimulated; otherwise we were kids, interested in normal kid play. We also took time-outs from one another due to childish disputes, such as the time I remember a disagreement on whether to start cooking KD in all hot or all cold water; D even suggested a perfectly reasonable compromise of half-and-half, which I, in one of my obstinate older-brother piques, refused. I don't recall what happened, although I think we didn't cook the KD and had something else instead, separately. Dad scolded us for not getting along, but...

In any case, one of the last incidents I remember of that first summer while our house was still unfinished found us sleeping naked together on the living room floor in a shared double sleeping bag, dad and stepmom upstairs in the master bedroom (the other rooms weren't done). Reading under the covers with a flashlight, we heard something outside, and quickly popped our heads out, toward the big window overlooking the unfinished deck. We had a deepfreeze out there, on which the bear put his front paws to peer in through the window at us, making huffing sounds. We freaked, running upstairs to tell parents, but they didn't believe us, sending us back to bed.

Though not scared, exactly – more miffed at the disbelief – we took solace in one another, huddling nude in the sleeping bag, humping/fingering one another abstractedly, nervously watching all the windows and listening, half-hoping it would come back for proof, till we fell asleep. The morning brought us vindication, however, as muddy bear paw prints covered the steps, stoop, deepfreeze. I believe the next few nights Dad loaded his rifle at the ready, but we never saw that neighbour again.

Yet, sometime around then we got new human next-door neighbours, the Timminses; their only child, Matthew, my age. Although I felt pleased at the male company, it did cramp our naked lifestyle, but D began to take more interest in her girlfriends anyway. I tried to get Matt interested in at least some exhibitionism, stripping down to skinny dip and making a point of letting him see my dick when I peed in the woods, but he wasn't interested, remaining in his swimming trunks and turning away; I recall his family being from a certain strict religious sect.

When I admitted some of my frustration to D, she laughed at me. Once again, we laid together nude on the living room floor in twilit darkness.

"Shut-up!" I lashed out, elbowing her in the arm. "I suppose you and Brenda are having lots of fun!" In my mind I pictured at least a half-dozen naked nymphs doing all kinds of naughty things together, Brian in the middle of it.

"OW! Quit it! Wouldn't _you_ like to know."

 _Actually, I would..._ "Like what?" I really didn't think she'd tell me... "I'm sorry, D***." I snuggled up, wanting to give the spot a kiss, but she had a hand over it, rubbing. Instead I tickled her chest, raising a nipple before venturing south to delve into bellybutton and farther, both hands soon roving and teasing. Squirming and sniggering, she plucked and slapped them away – freeing the spot I'd struck for a sloppy kiss.

"ICK!" she protested; froze when I planted one on her lips. "Why'd you do that?" Blue eyes, colourless in the dim light of a fading summer day, reflected curiosity.

"Cuz I'm sorry for hitting you. And I want to know what you and Brenda do."

"We do lots of things."

"Like what?"

D continued to tease, drawing out her explication with banalities like picking flowers and playing hopscotch.

"We play with dolls, too."

I continued to lightly stroke her skin, eliciting little shivers.

"We dress them up. And undress them. L‑Like us."

_This was more like it..._

"We dress up Brian, too."

"Wh...What?"

"He likes us to dress him as a girl. We do his hair, too. And makeup."

We entered somewhat forbidden territory, makeup being largely prohibited to girls in my extended family until around 13-14-ish; although not a morality issue, rather one of natural or organic living (long before we'd heard of 'organics'), albeit perhaps more so our mutual financial situations that dictated few such luxuries.

Again, I thought the dress-up odd, but pressed for details.

D told me that she and Brenda, occasionally with Cathy and Faye, played dress-up – or perhaps 'dress-down', often playing House, as kids often do, designating a Mother, Father, etc. While these playtimes usually ended up with nude girls, Brian wanted to remain dressed as their 'daughter'; and once in a while, Cathy played 'Father'. I lobbied for more particulars, stroking D just as I knew she liked, along inner thighs, knees, vulva. She sighed, dreamily relating her tale.

"We dress Brian in my panties, and he likes wearing Faye's bra." She giggled. "We stuff it with K‑Kleenex. Brenda's dresses fit him the best, and he looks p‑pretty when we do his hair in barrettes and ribbons. We practise m‑makeup on him too – F‑Faye has— _mmmm..._ "

D began to have difficulty talking, but once I got her to orgasm once or twice, obtained the rest of the story. I stroked her cunny and clit simultaneous with my dick in the other hand; humped her leg; kissed her neck, ear. "Oh-oh-oh-oh... OH!" Tickling bare feet and sucking sweaty toes sets her off; I had to come up for air, finally throwing off the sleeping bag till we cooled down.

She said Brian didn't want to sex-play with them, despite apparently climaxing himself, moaning and jerking himself inside D's panties, leaving little wet spots. He would watch, however, when Cathy dry-humped 'Mom' Faye – elected because she had the biggest tits – and Brenda would pretend to be 'born', first using a naked doll that D would spank to make it cry and breathe, actually voiced by Brenda. When she told me that the new human 'baby' would then get a spank and be turned over and have her legs spread so she could be inspected by Dr. D and proclaimed a girl, I came myself, jerking against D's leg and leaving both of us breathless as we fell asleep cuddled together.


	19. Sister Summers - Pt 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> See _Only Sitter in Town Pts 1-16_ and _Sister Summers Pt 1 & 2_ for setup. D and I spend a couple of weeks at a nudist camp.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TAGS: Nudism; voyeurism; exhibitionism; outdoor; massage; cumming; blowjob; mild coercion; m/b; all participants are fictional or of age to be involved in consensual sexual activity.

During our second summer we stayed at the Dimitrios's nudist camp for a couple of weeks. The only way to get to it is by boat or floatplane (both of which the Ds had). I should clarify right off, however, that it isn't a 'lifestyle' camp where free sexual expression is encouraged, albeit neither is sexual activity policed, much less forbidden. As an exclusive club – given the fact that our way of living is not universally acceptable – its exact location remains a secret to this day, shared with associates of the community who are closely vetted by veteran members.

In any case, all I knew then was that many of the membership was familiar to me, including Faye's family, Cathy's, and of course Brenda's. Still far too shy and insecure to make new friends, I kept to our inner circle, albeit I still learned some new things. While I'm referring mainly to sex, of course, the camp featured many typical activities such as swimming lessons, archery, canoeing, music, art, soccer, and even a massage class. The latter featured actual masseurs from Europe, where full-body, non-erotic (if there is such a thing) massage is, or at least was, practised for adults and children alike. It is an old art that, should one do some research, is found in many cultures, even though some would be termed 'primitive', such as Amazon or African tribes. Nonetheless, especially in the latter it is performed upon elders as a sign of respect and continued value.

Naturally, all participants in our facility were nude, and I clearly recall the first class I attended. There must have been about two dozen people, from one infant all the way to an elderly couple. The instructors were also a couple, I believe; middle-aged, with, as far as I could tell, the same accent (German, I think). We all sat in the dining hall, which used to be the activity centre as well; a small raised stage could be set up, the dining tables cleared to accommodate more chairs. The new one holds about a hundred now, but only around fifty then – seated for dining – so we had plenty of room. Everyone crowded close, in a semi-circle around the stage, upon which the massage table sat draped with towels or sheets. Two things stand out about the session: One, how a teen boy volunteer ejaculated, and; two, lessons about girls' growing breasts.

Various onlookers of differing ages lined up for a demonstration of age differences in anatomy; the contrast of 'typical' bodies from toddlers on up I recall as rather stimulating, including that of males. I don't remember all the finer points that were made about variances in massage techniques between infants or toddlers versus adults, other than gentle 'rolfing' and light 'tapping' with knuckles or fists for kids, nor were there appreciable differences between genders other than what I mentioned about girls entering puberty.

Specifically, girls' breasts are extremely tender when they begin to grow, and often itchy, especially around the nipples. They also tend to grow lopsided, as I've also revealed. Therefore, when Faye offered herself up for a demo, the big-titted though average-looking masseuse made a point of lecturing us – I felt us teen and preteen guys being singled out – regarding respect for tender parts. The lesson obviously stuck, along with my memories of trying to subtly acquire a better angle to view between Faye's legs, which she parted slightly when the instructor worked on them. They asked if she wanted a towel, but, much to my delight, the girl declined. Still, I couldn’t see a lot beyond a lightly fuzzed cleft that appeared to be secreting a bit of moisture.

However, the show improved later when a mid-teen boy – I didn't know him and don't remember his name – turned over; he had a rather decent hardon. The muscular male instructor made a comment something along the line of, "Dis happen sometime," and passed it off amidst a few snickers from less mature audience members, draping a towel over the problem without asking. However, as he continued, droning on about pressure points in the feet and ankles and his wife massaged the boy's temples or neck area, the teen began moaning; I saw his toes curl and the towel leap about, the obvious pyramid of his cock leaving a spot here and there, readily apparent despite the light colour.

A momentary silence ensued, during which another groan emerged suddenly from nearby; I looked around Faye, on my left, to the distinct twitching tent in the towel on Brian's lap as he came too.

"Vell, dis happen sometime too," the masseur informed us.

Other stuff that happened included a lot that I unfortunately did not witness nor participate in. During the first couple of days I saw several older teen boys grab younger ones and drag them into the lake; thus, almost the whole time I lived in terror that I would be targeted, and made a point to only travel around with my sister and her friends, including Brian.

Here I should mention that the resort subscribed a great deal to the Israeli kibbutz philosophies of communal living and property, child-rearing, and so on. I will not start another lecture; readers who wish to can research themselves. The only things I'd like to clarify is that everyone, including children, were indeed housed in gender-mixed facilities, with unisex toilets and showers, but it was a temporary cohabitation, unlike the true kibbutz. The latter is probably a significant reason why, also unlike a kibbutz, attachments and sexual liaisons were far more prevalent, other factors being of course a nudist colony, doubtless as well as cultural differences.

While some teens entering puberty inevitably become body shy as they get older and go through confusing changes, the support and acceptance offered there countered this effect, to the point that I don't recall anyone being 'shy'. Although encounters between different age groups weren't expressly forbidden, they were discouraged (mostly non-verbally). Infants were housed in a small cabin with one or two or more care-giver adults or older teens – including males. Similarly, toddlers and pre-schoolers had mid- and late-teen caregivers, who stayed overnight in their cabin; us tweens and early teens may be allotted a similar 'supervisor', depending how many of us there were; older teens had their own cabin, as did adults. All caregivers rotated so that no one was stuck overlong with one job or another, including all cleaning, hauling wood and water, garbage, and food prep. (For hygiene and safety, kitchen workers had to wear at least shorts, aprons, and shoes; all else being optional.)

While I know of more sexual activity going on – judging by the sounds at night – the only thing I witnessed was Brian D. blowing an older boy in the shower. This was technically a violation of 'policy', as the teen was our supervisor. Regardless, on my way to the toilet in the wee hours, I heard noises; peeking around the shower entrance, I saw Brian on his knees on the smooth wooden floor, back to me, earnestly plunging his face into the older boy's crotch. I couldn't see details, but when the teen locked eyes with me and grabbed Brian by the back of his head, I took off. Again, I lived in fear of being threatened, but nothing happened.

When I told my sister about it later, she asked, "You didn't know?"

"Know what?"

"That he's gay!"

That was the first time I think I'd heard the word, and it took my worldly-wise sis to educate me. I know it stirred things in me – curiosity, mostly – that I would seek to satisfy later. Meantime, we went to archery and art class – where I discovered I'm a lousy artist, but can appreciate the human form regardless – and recall canoeing with D and Brenda; they manned the paddles, me in the middle, giving me the opportunity to appreciate Brenda's developing muscles and tits. I very much wanted to feel up those little raspberries, despite thinking about recent admonitions regarding their sensitivity. That was only reinforced when Brenda unselfconsciously scratched at them, further raising puffy nipples between paddle strokes.

I heard D giggle knowingly behind me; further education would have to be postponed as I looked away, ostensibly watching the treed shoreline slowly pass in the warm breeze.

On one of our last nights, I awoke in impenetrable darkness to someone trying to get into bed with me. I thought it was my sister, so I moved over. However, D had never smelled like a sweaty boy before, and moreover had never knelt and the head of the bed and stuck a hard penis in my face; therefore, I figured it must be either Brian or the guy he'd blown. Thinking it might be the latter – the body in bed with me seemingly large enough – I nervously accommodated him; though insistent, he wasn't rough, and I didn't mind so much, as curiosity encouraged me. Despite not knowing what I was doing, I let him fuck my mouth, choking only a little as he came down my throat, holding the back of my head till shudders ceased and he withdrew. Tasting and swallowing the unfamiliar fluid, I contemplated my safety now that I had ostensibly 'paid' for it.

I fell asleep never figuring out for sure the identity of the first guy I ever sucked off.


	20. Only Sitter in Town - Pt 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> See Pts 1-16 and _Sister Summers Pts 1-3_ for setup. Our summer camping trip continues.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TAGS: Nudism; voyeurism; exhibitionism; outdoor; mock rape/coercion; masturbation; incest; m/g; f/f; m/f/m; all participants are fictional or of age to be involved in consensual sexual activity.

I have mentioned that in the days before internet porn, we had magazines. The sort to which I had ready access I've mentioned, but there were others, including Danish hardcore produced in the 1960s and '70s before laws were passed against so-called child porn, and various European nudist magazines that, while not explicit, showed everything of every age save gynecological shots and hardons. I had not seen any of those – magazines, that is – by the time of our summer visits up north, until the nudist mag, in piss-poor shape, we found in a dilapidated cabin near the lake on our camping trip.

It depicted a 1950s or '60s family playing naked Cowboys and Indians around a similar-looking cabin (albeit in much better condition; it appeared as though they lived in it). The kids ranged in age from 8-ish to mid- or even late-teens; I recall a girl who I took to be around 17-18 and just my 'type' – that is, an older Brenda – as well as a boy of about 15 who had the biggest cock I'd seen on a non-adult, since I saw a kid named Kenny Jeffers when we were obliged to shower in school after PE, starting in about Grade 7 or 8. (PE was Physical Education, whatever they call it now. Jeffers not only had a big dick, his was the first I'd seen that had hair, a lot of hair, aside from adults’.) In one pic the kid in the mag had been 'shot', and played dead on the porch, long cock flopped over one leg. I thought that was the most erotic pose in the mag – must have been, as I don't recall any others, specifically, other than 'Brenda' on one knee behind a bush in a feathered headband, drawing a toy bow.

In any case, I discovered it with D, Carrie and Toby, Faye, Brenda and Brian D, along with Laura and Brian W, commenting on how the one girl resembled Brenda.

"With bigger boobs!" Brian D scoffed.

His sister made to cuff him, tanned skin shading red as she briefly chased him around.

"We should play Cowboys and Indians," I suggested eagerly.

We had real bows, as archery was a pastime of most of us. Naturally we would not use them in play, but we also had one or two toy bows, as well as toy guns, of course. Quickly choosing sides, us ‘Indians’ would attack the ‘Settlers’ cabin, aiming to abduct the women – with ill intent, to be sure.

Let me clarify here that, although ‘women’s rights’ was by now a thing (Google bra-burning, for example), we still had a long way to go until the relative equity of today. Even so, my sister (of course!) demanded to be allowed to defend herself and the ‘helpless’ females, so we were obliged to ‘kill’ her. In any case, having very limited idea, then, of the very real trauma of rape, we Indians proceeded to ravish our captives.

In truth, had I not experienced mild S&M with the Lowells or read relevant trashy novels, I would not have had much idea what to do with our victory. I was not yet aware of the truly horrible things historically perpetrated against settlers of the so-called Old West (never mind what white people did to natives), or I may well have been hesitant to proceed by tying up Faye and Laura and Carrie Lowell.

We’d had to clean the cabin of glass, garbage, and forest debris in order to lay our captives on the rough grey, gapped plank floor; no interior walls remained. Even so, when Faye whimpered for a blanket or towel to sit on, I denied her in my best native accent.

“Quiet, paleface. We teach white man to steal our land.”

She and Laura looked extremely sexy, sitting naked on either side of equally nude little Carrie, all tied at wrists and pretty, crossed ankles. As well as my sister D, Brian D had been ‘killed’ defending the women, as had young Toby Lowell in the assault. So, although they didn’t participate in the climax, they all rose from the dead to observe.

Brian Wayne, Brenda, and I would decide the captives’ fates.

None of our prisoners appeared to be taking things too seriously, however; Carrie couldn’t stop giggling, and both elder girls barely suppressed their own laughter. Which at the time piqued me – though I’m not sure if I felt more offended that they weren’t really scared or that they couldn’t act worth shit.

Whatever the case, I went on somewhat about what we Indians did to paleface women, threatening them with a homemade willow-branch whip. I don’t know what gave me the idea – likely some pulp novel – but I began to menace little Carrie with it, telling the older girls that if they didn’t do what we wanted, we’d do it to her instead. Doubtless the youngster didn’t have much idea what I meant, but when I teased the whip across bare, goose-bumped flesh, her giggling intensified, just as though it tickled – which it probably did.

At last Faye gasped prettily, begging us not to hurt the little girl. “I’ll do whatever you want,” she promised. Blue-eyed gaze gave nothing away regarding her seriousness, but at least she seemed finally to be playing along.

“But it tickles,” Carrie protested, squirming in her bonds, apparently wanting the ‘torture’ to continue.

I cracked the whip against the floor or wall (willow is extremely flexible and makes fine real whips if one had a mind to use them seriously).

Carrie yelped, and one of the other girls let out a squeak as well.

Giggling mostly stopped, although three pair of eyes still shone with anticipation and amusement, if not exactly fear.

“Hold her down,” I commanded Brenda and Brian W.

They laid Carrie on her back, one stretching tied arms above her head, the other pinioning her short legs at bound ankles. The little girl’s breathing began to quicken as I again stroked the tip of the branch along quivering skin, brushing sensitive bits a little more selectively. “Is this what you want?” I asked the older girls. To my delight, they let the game proceed; I bent to tweak undeveloped nipples and trail a finger along tummy, thighs, slightly shiny young pudendum. Giggling began again, interspersed with small gasps.

“No!” Faye protested once more. “Leave her alone.”

“No-OOO!” Carrie voiced her own complaint, obviously not getting the spirit of the game. We tried to explain to her that she wasn’t supposed to like it, but how are you supposed to do that, other than to tell the little girl it was like playing House or Dress-up or similar roleplaying game? Eventually she seemed to understand her part, or perhaps only that others deserved a ‘turn’.

Therefore, I told Brenda to take the young one away, to be reluctantly adopted into the tribe, and gave Brian W a turn with the older girls. (Nonetheless, you can guess that no one went anywhere other than into the audience; try to keep youthful curiosity and enthusiasm away in such situations.) When Brenda returned to assist with the captives, we continued our ‘torture’.

I now had both Faye and Laura at my mercy; couldn’t help but compare the darker girl’s athleticism with the blonde’s developing voluptuousness as they lay trussed side-by-side, wrists crossed over crotch, ankles together. Brenda, Brian, and I arranged them closer so that their hips touched; Faye’s shoulder pressed into squirming Laura’s upper arm; wriggling small bare feet didn’t reach the taller girl’s ankles. I could tell both suppressed smirks and titters, trying to act scared.

“Now, paleface wenches” —yes, I used words that rendered one another anachronistic— “you will suffer for trying to steal our land.”

By now our audience had arranged itself around the dilapidated cabin, either on the floor against a shaky wall, or peering wide-eyed through an empty window or doorway. A couple of tongues protruded, moistening lips; fingers and hands roved upon owner or neighbour.

“They’re too shy,” Brenda observed, grabbing Faye’s hands and lifting them above the supine girl’s head, pinning them to the rough floor. “You should untie her feet and hold them apart.”

I thought this a fine idea; Brian and I did so, each sitting on a smooth pale leg as we now had the blonde spread-eagled.

Faye whimpered, “No... please... don’t,” I’m sure partly in embarrassment. Even so, I could see her arousal as she did her best to be ‘scared’. Moist pinkness protruded from amongst fine hairs; dark nipples on round, trembling breasts swelled, begging to be tweaked.

I did so, treating the left as Brian similarly engaged the right. I essayed a finger along slick cleft, eliciting a moan and twitch. When the other boy did the same, going so far as to push a finger up to its second knuckle, as Brenda leaned to tongue and suck her friend’s nipples, the girl’s shuddering intensified. I’m sure we made her cum at least once before retying her and turning to Laura.

“This one not like paleface,” I observed. Although not as dusky as Brenda, who in turn did not match a true native’s pigmentation, Laura looked quite dark against Faye’s natural pallor. “Maybe we should adopt her into tribe too. But me thinks there should be a test first – a trial.”

“What trial?” a couple of kids voiced, as I’m certain all thought it.

“Quiet,” I told them. “You’re all dead.”

We treated Laura equally, sucking puffy nips and exploring nearly hairless crease, hands wandering all over goose-bumped, fine-haired dusky skin. She yelled her orgasm, vibrating as I pulled my finger out of squeezing cunt. “Now, if you promise not to try to escape, we’ll untie your hands. Then you have to make one of us cum – whoever make us cum first will be adopted; the other will be put to death.” I had lost my accent by then, though certainly not my hardon. (It should be noted that, but for the presence of the younger ones, this game may have had a slightly different consummation; this would come later, however.)

Through some tittering and lascivious comments, as well as sighs and grunts, the ‘trial’ commenced. Both girls approached me on their knees; we granted the girls some towels or blankets, since minor splinters etc. made their presence known on the old floor. Faye grabbed my cock first, earning a glare from Laura and a thrill from me (I don’t know if she wanted me more than _not_ wanting to jack her brother, but I wasn’t thinking of anything much at the time beyond release of straining nuts). Standing ass-to-bare-ass, Brian and I enjoyed handjobs by more experienced girls; hardly a couple of minutes elapsed before we came simultaneously, earning a shriek from Toby or Carrie, moans of approval from others. The contest undecided, I thus had to improvise some more, directing the girls this time to get one another off. As they started to wrestle on the blankets, we all guarded the periphery against either of them contacting a broken wall or falling out the gaping doorway.

Perhaps needless to say I witnessed one of the most erotic sights ever. Each contrasting naked teen girl tried to overpower the other and inflict ‘damage’ such as kisses, fingering, licking, rubbing. Despite Laura being stronger and taller, Faye outweighed her, so they at first appeared almost equally matched. Laura’s athleticism told, however, as she pinned her blonde friend, sitting astraddle round thighs, planting kisses and licks across pretty reddened face, neck, tits. Nonetheless, accessing her opponent’s gaping wet cunny proved problematic while trying to avoid Faye clamping her pretty mouth on her own nether lips, so eventually they engaged in a mutual 69. By now, grunting and moaning came from everywhere, and no one noticed raindrops finding ingress through myriad holes in the roof.

And no final judgement could be rendered on who would die or be adopted, since almost everyone was cumming before a downpour chased us all into better cover.


	21. Only Sitter in Town - Pt 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> See Pts 1-17 and _Sister Summers Pts 1-3_ for setup. Our summer camping trip continues; the fire stoked in all of us by the Cowboys & Indians show finds release later that night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TAGS: Nudism; voyeurism; exhibitionism; outdoor; masturbation; oral; m+/f+; all participants are fictional or of age to be involved in consensual sexual activity.

Following the rainstorm and after supper that night, we sat around our campfire roasting marshmallows and telling ghost stories to the kids. Later, D put the youngsters and dogs to bed and stayed in the camper to supervise. (Turns out, D volunteered not because of her ‘mothering’ instinct, which I assumed, but her period, which I happen to know she had started by about age 12, and she got quite bad cramps.) By now the Sykes had arrived, but their kids were still only about two- and six-ish, so joined Carrie, Toby, and Kayla Lowell, plus the Kirby’s baby; the dogs lodged in the Waynes’ camper van.

Now, a few days in, our routine had been pretty much established; us teens knew without a doubt that the adults engaged in group sex in our big tent, but so far we had been too insecure to go beyond pairing up or perhaps a threesome ‘sleepover’, engaging in not much more than – as far as I knew – heavy petting inside one or another of the extra tents erected around the campsite. Tonight would be different, however.

I don’t know who got the idea to set up the second biggest tent for a fuck party, but someone had arranged near wall-to-wall foamies and air mattresses, plus lanterns and fans (we had a couple of generators, but they were noisy and so we didn’t use them all the time). I sensed my sister’s organisational skills, yet all this we would find out later.

Our evening continued after the kids went to bed, listening to music – stuff we could all pretty much agree on, like Black Sabbath, Rolling Stones, Nazareth – chatting, telling dirty jokes, poking the fire, roasting more marshmallows, wieners. Although we unfortunately didn’t yet know about smores, we made something called ‘pie irons’; the tool resembles a pair of small metal pie plates on long handles like a bellows that you open up flat and in which you fit a slice of bread, butter-side-down against the metal, placing a dollop of jam or hunk of cheese in the middle, followed by another slice of bread, butter-side-out, making a sandwich. You then close it and hold it in the fire, turning frequently till the outside browns and the inside melts. Although the corners of the bread inevitably burn off anyway, it takes some practice not to burn the whole thing while cooking it through, plus they get dangerously hot inside; yet, they are wonderful!

Anyway, having gorged ourselves and conversation beginning to lag, we heard certain sounds drifting from the adult campsite a way off and noticed that their fire appeared to be almost out, while interesting shadows flitted across tent walls through spectral trees. Pretty much all of us had been holding hands, petting and kissing all evening, but when Brenda began jacking Brian W right there – most of us wore only t-shirts, some long, maybe shorts and sneakers against the night breeze and bugs – the rest of us began to get further notions. Brian W sat on Brenda’s left, next to Faye; Brian D between Laura and his sister; leaving me between Laura and Faye. I sensed some continued tension when Laura grabbed for my dick as I necked with Faye; I felt her push the blonde’s warm, lightly stroking hand off my thigh. Feeling a bit uncomfortable, despite blood rushing to my cock, I tried to return Faye’s kiss but Laura, with her free hand, attempted to turn my head toward her.

“Hey, I have an idea!” Brenda offered, giving me a breath or two as everyone looked up at her. “How about a competition? We jack the boys and see who can shoot the farthest. See if we can hit the fire!” She kissed young Brian W (the only preteen among us), who moaned as she renewed her grip on his modest, cut cock, coaxing it fully out of its sparse nest of dark hair.

Grinning wryly, Faye surrendered me to the younger girl, turning instead to Brian D. It crossed my mind to wonder how that pairing might work out, considering his sexuality, and I very much wanted to watch. Laura’s aggressiveness overpowered my curiosity, though, as she twisted my head to jam her tongue in my mouth. At first I felt a little put off by the young teen’s assertiveness, especially since Faye was ostensibly my girlfriend. Although I have related somewhat of our attitudes toward jealousy, I didn’t feel right about this, especially since Faye held more attraction for me then, being older and more developed, despite Laura’s athleticism and resemblance to a younger Brenda.

You’ll recall, however, that Laura had always acted this way toward me, and so perhaps her own jealousy or sense of competitiveness always took over, whether that be against her brother or a perceived sexual rival in Faye – and I admit, it likely didn’t apply only to me. In any case, lust overcame reluctance, though we broke the kiss so we could watch the circle jerk contest like everyone else. Brian W climaxed almost right away, merely dribbling clear stuff over Brenda’s hand. Grunting, after another minute or two of Laura’s vigorous stroking and excellent aim, I shot next, easily hitting the firepit to a chorus of cheers. That left Brian D, whom my girlfriend masturbated slowly in a firm grip. As far as I could tell, he’d acquired full erection, but his eyes locked on mine. I watched Faye increase the pace, tip of my tongue traveling across my lips; moved gaze to his lap and back again. It took several minutes, but at last Brian lost his load, eyes and head rolling back simultaneously; Faye aimed too high, however, and his spurts arced well short of the fire.

“We win!” Laura chortled, curled fingers manipulating my still-hard member. “What do we get?”

Suddenly it occurred to me that she still ‘owed’ me (according to her mother), but I didn’t bring it up, instead slapping a mosquito landing on a solid t-shirt-clad shoulder.

“OW! Hey!” she yelled, rubbing it.

“Skeeter!” I defended myself, pointing to the black smear, now partly on her hand.

“ICK!”

I wiped it for her, using an ever-ready towel such as in use by the other girls to clean spilled cum from hands et al.

Unfortunately, as was wont to happen, despite being marinated in bug juice, when battle sounds of slaps and curses against mosquitoes and blackflies began to outnumber murmurs and sighs, we readily acceded to whomever suggested we move inside, each fetching his or her own sleeping paraphernalia as required.

Without my sister, you may have noted, our pyjama(less) party was evenly matched: three boys and three girls. Still, how this would work out with one of the former supposedly being gay, not to mention the rivalry between Faye and Laura, remained to be seen.

Zippered inside the tent, mosquito coils and lanterns lit, we got comfortable, lying down amongst sleeping bags and pillows. Naturally, although not that warm, all of us got equally naked, soon warming each other. Inevitably I ended up between Faye and Laura again, while Brenda played with Brian W, Brian D watching and masturbating.

No matter what Faye did – kissing, jerking, then going down on me – Laura intervened, being rather pushy about it. I could hardly even enjoy it, the tension felt so high.

My girlfriend finally released my half-hard prick, sitting back as if to surrender it wholly to her younger rival. “Look, Laura. What’s going on here?”

The darker girl pulled her head off my cock long enough to glare at the blonde. “What’re you talking about? I’m sucking J***’s dick, what does it look like?”

“Yes, but so was I. When I kissed him, you moved in. When I got my hand around his penis, you grabbed it and pushed me away. Why?”

“I don’t know what you mean. I’m—”

“Girls,” I interrupted. “There should be plenty of room on my cock for both your hands.”

I really didn’t think about what I was saying as braggadocio, nor did I intend humour; though true enough, I merely wanted to make peace. Not to mention fuck two cute girls without all the drama. But all at once silence intruded; everyone’s attention diverted to us. Then laughter started.

“ _I_ know!” Brian D exclaimed. “How about we see how many hands can fit on J***’s cock?”

Thus commenced an exercise reminiscent of choosing batting order for softball, where participants alternatingly wrapped hands around the bat handle, one atop the last, the person able to take their final turn by ‘capping’ their palm over the knob taking precedence. Only in this game Laura sought to claim primacy by gripping the very base of my dick, then Faye tight against her hand; but before Laura could claim victory, Brian D knelt to cap my swollen purple knob himself.

Laughter continued; the tension thus broken, Brian leaned in to swap mouth for hand, sucking earnestly whilst the girls jacked in unison, my member swelling over-full. Finally, since they kept dislodging the boy’s mouth, they stopped moving while keeping up the pressure as my balls felt about to burst. Profound, the contrast between Laura’s almost painful squeeze and Faye’s tender grasp. Since the eroticism had abruptly ramped, little time passed in this mode till I yelled, modest second load shooting down Brian’s throat, hands clamped on my ass as he thrust his face against the girls’ renewed jerking. I had to push them all away after my heels finished drumming the sleeping bag, groaning over the sound not quite as loud as a mating grouse beating its wings.

“MMmmm... yeah...” Brian D moaned, leaning back on one hand, wiping lips and licking opposite fingers.

“F-Fuck...” I’m not sure who vocalised the sentiment we all felt, though it sounded feminine.

“L-Laura,” I managed, breathless. “Y-You owe me. So... I w-want you... to play nice.”

Our normal style of play had almost invariably been to pair off or engage in threesomes while any others watched, but things changed that night.


	22. Only Sitter in Town - Pt 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> See Pts 1-18 and _Sister Summers Pts 1-3_ for setup. Our summer camping trip climaxes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TAGS: Orgy; oral; anal; masturbation; cumplay; gay; bi; lesbian; incest; m+/f+; m+/f+/g/g/b; all participants are fictional or of age to be involved in consensual sexual activity.

My sister started working next summer, and so did not visit up north any longer. Yet, I began to spend my summers back at the farm, so our escapades continued, albeit less frequently. Even so, our cousins still visited there as well, and the rest of my siblings grew into early- and preteens. Those stories must wait, however.

The sex I experienced that night – and during the remainder of the trip – was some of the most memorable of my life. Once more, the exact sequence is unclear, but after Brian D sucked me off, I believe he moved to treat Brian W likewise. Faye and Laura indeed ‘played nice’ (mostly) eventually fucking me into submission between them.

As a teen boy you can cum virtually limitless times, but after a few, little is left in your nuts, and it even begins to hurt – reverse blue-balls! – not to mention chafe (use lube, even if uncut!). I have experienced both. As for girls, well, doubtless most readers will know there’s a broad disparity. Aside from the supposedly ‘frigid’ or asexual, some you can’t tell when or if they climax at all, while others are multi-orgasmic. Along the spectrum fall those who become overwrought and push you away after a few good cums, a few then soon ready for more – long before most guys can recover – while others seem to be able to go all night and day without respite.

The reason I clarify this is because, in group settings, satisfying everyone while not leaving anyone hanging, even with genders evenly matched, is a bit of a proverbial crapshoot. It helps if all are bisexual, but if one is mostly gay... Thus, I couldn’t help feeling a bit sorry for Brian D, since Brian W was maybe ninety percent straight, and I was... preoccupied, never mind generally straight as well. This situation would only come to the fore of my addled mind later, however.

Despite my admonition to Laura about sharing, she initially resisted. I had always wanted to get head from two girls at once but had to settle this time for one sitting on my face, another blowing or riding me. At some point Brenda and both Brians joined us; soon difficulties arose distinguishing whose mouth or hand etc. went where – again, not that it mattered terribly. Obviously, I could tell when a tight snatch lowered itself on my cock when my nose and tongue delved into another fuzzy wet one, or my lips wrapped around the soft hardness of a prick, but otherwise whose mouth or hand belonged to whom...?

Achieving some clarity of our surroundings while on my knees fucking Laura doggy-style, Brenda beneath us licking my shaft as it slid in and out of the younger girl’s clenching cunt, I watched her trying valiantly to suck Brian D erect, him staring at me with Brian W’s little dick clamped in his mouth, cheeks hollowing regularly.

“I want you to fuck my ass,” Laura demanded, looking back at me, “so Bren can eat me.”

We had all been counselled – threatened, more like – to practise safe sex, so although all girls were on the pill, us guys nonetheless wore condoms, changing them between partners or orifices aside from mouths. Brian D loved the job and quickly set me up, lubing me with Vaseline (don’t lecture me about it breaking down latex; we didn’t know yet) to slide up Laura’s poop chute. The girl gave a couple of jerks and a moan under me as I lodged home and felt Brenda’s forehead press into my constricted nuts, the older girl’s tongue doubtless plumbing the hole I’d just vacated. And if I thought that had been tight...

Turning back to her skinny sibling, the boy once more readily entrusted his little prick to sis’ oral ministrations. Since we’d all cum recently and often, we guys managed to last a while; judging by squeals, hisses, moans, the girls got off several more times between them. Laura shuddered beneath me, collapsing almost atop her friend and pushing me off.

“Now... fuck Bri,” she managed.

We called Brian D ‘Bri’ for short and to distinguish him from Laura’s brother, who occasionally became ‘Brain’, a play on his name as well as his being a near-straight-A student.

“What?” I stared at Laura, even as the designated youth eagerly swapped rubbers on me again.

“An ass is an ass, just as a mouth’s a mouth and a hand’s a hand,” she proffered. “You just had mine, so what’s the diff?”

“Uhhh...” Brian D continued to stroke my newly jacketed prick, which indeed didn’t seem to notice any difference.

“Here, see if this helps. Line up, girls.”

Rolling onto hands and knees, Laura stuck her pert little bony arse in the air; Faye’s round white bottom soon pressed into one hip, Brenda’s tanned one against the other. Legs slightly spread to overlap, each awesome cleft, mostly hairless and pouting, glistened; Faye’s alone stayed shyly closed, begging to be parted by tongue or—

“I...” My mouth felt dry; I wanted to moisten it in each of those delectable cunts.

“Squat on top of me, Bri. Brain, let him suck you again.”

Brian D released me to straddle the small, lithe girl, bending over her defined back to offer his own firm, tight buttocks for my inspection. I had to admit, even if only to myself, that the comparison didn’t leave a lot wanting. Not to mention the entire panorama in shadowy flickering lamplight.

_FUCK!_

Bri, I discovered, had greased himself up liberally as well as my cock; still, the fit was at least equal to the one I’d just tried on. And I couldn’t help myself; I started to fuck him, hands roving over nearby female flesh, delving into nether lips and slathering juices into puckered smaller, tighter holes.

Bri began to moan, “Yeah, yeah, yeah...!”

As Brian W commenced similar noises, Laura the Director instructed all boys to stand dick-to-dick as upright as the low tent roof would allow, which pressed heads together and encouraged kissing; girls laid below catching drips and dribbles as we shot all over one another, grunting and yelling through tied tongues. We played with each other’s cocks, rubbing cum and other substances around sensitive heads and slippery shafts, tight balls; girls played and licked from beneath, including each other’s faces, necks; tugged cumshots through tangled contrasting hair, short and dark, long and blonde.

That night I spent cuddled between two of the most physically different girls I’ve had the pleasure of knowing, all firm yet soft curves pressed against one side, rippled young petite strength on the other, equally smooth, warm, exquisite. Smells of girl-sweat and pussy juices, subtle perfumes or deodorants that complemented one another perfectly, all spiked by the sweet scent of cum, overlaid with forest pitch and crisp night air. Serenaded by the lonely cry of loons, I fell asleep.

Later during breakfast and in the communal shower next morning – simply a couple of big, heavy plastic water bags hung from trees to absorb what warmth they could from the sun, rigged with hoses and shower heads; having no walls, just ropes hung about as towel hangers – we seemed to have crossed some kind of threshold; usual teasing and banter felt strained; glances less shy and more knowing, even between adults and us. All except the children; toddler and youngsters’ usual exuberance manifested early, shrieking little naked bodies running amok amongst overexcited dogs, the former having to be restrained for attempts to wash them, given our lack of a bathtub and limited supply of not-really-warm water. Although we supplemented this with pans of wash water heated on gas propane camp stoves, of course, it was an effort to do so even just for the youngest while having enough for cooking, dishes, etc. We could swim, of course, some of the adults even preferring the colder water of the lake (not knowing then about releasing phosphates et al. from soap and shampoo).

In any case, as one might imagine, the rest of that blissful summer passed almost as quickly as the camping trip. Nights of similar sexual revelry followed, tensions seeming to ease between Faye and Laura. Now that the latter had asserted herself, perhaps, she left me mostly alone.

The next memorable episode to be related from this campout occurred the night it rained and we couldn’t sit around sharing our usual campfire stories and setting marshmallows aflame. Instead, we swapped tents with the adults and entertained the children and each other with games like _Sorry_ , _Snakes & Ladders_, and cards. The cool, damp night prompted most to don various elements of clothing, even under a blanket; albeit the close quarters subtly began to peel bits here and there, till the majority wore nothing or next to-. Inevitably our games turned sexual, and I found Carrie’s hand on my dick again.

Although my memory is unclear, I believe the tent that night housed about six early-to-mid-teens, one twelve-year-old boy (Brian W), eight-year-old Carrie, plus couple of six-year-olds and at least three babies and toddlers, for a total of thirteen young humans. Naturally enough, the latter went to sleep relatively early in the corners, leaving the rest of us in a puppy-pile that inevitably formed everywhere else.

Whoever measures the size of tents as ‘three-person, ten-person’, etc., must be a midget. Even though the disclaimer says it’s for lying down and sleeping only, this supposed 12-person did not fit around a baker’s dozen non-adults lying down or sitting without almost literally stacking atop one another. It’s a good thing we had lots of help removing clothes, because we had to go outside to change our minds.

Not that we cared, of course. Having virtually no space between one body and the next, all the better to rub, lick, fondle, delve, caress, kiss, fuck, and cum. This time I fell asleep with an immature nipple in my mouth, a small hand on my spent cock. Awakening the next morning, a tongue now tentatively probed my mouth, another – no, two – stroked my dick. For the record, Carrie Lowell decided to practise what she recently learned – tongue-kissing – before sitting on my face as demonstrated she loved starting several years ago, albeit every time since _sans_ panties or anything else clothing-related. Inhaling new scents of girly-pee laced with stale remnants of the prior night’s exploits, I licked the young girl to a good-morning cum while I never did know who got me to spurt between two sets of lips, anonymous tongues bathing my prick clean as the sounds of birdsong, woodchopping, and others orgasming nearby started our day.


	23. Only Sitter in Town - Pt 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> INTRODUCTION: See Pts 1-19 and _Sister Summers Pts 1-3_ for setup. Our summer camping trip nears conclusion with a deflowering.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TAGS: Nudism; outdoor; oral; virginity; underage alcohol use; m/g; all participants are fictional or of age to be involved in consensual sexual activity.

I have always professed that there are three reasons for having sex: recreation, procreation, and adoration. Group sex is nice, but when one can combine at least two of those three at the same time, it’s most fulfilling – for me, anyway. The thing is, despite my father’s early advice of, “Son, don’t fall in love with every woman you meet”, I’m afraid it must be inherited (I assume he spoke from experience). While, gods forbid, I have never wanted to procreate with every woman I’ve met, I’ve wanted to fuck most; those I did, I fell in love with, at least to an extent, and remain so to this day, even if I can no longer remember names or faces.

I’m afraid this brings up a – hopefully brief – exposition on my philosophy around polyamory: some years ago I told a female of about age 18, myself only around 20, that I felt myself fully capable of loving more than one person at once, and all didn’t have to be of the opposite sex. Obviously, I have already characterised myself as ‘mostly straight’, but there is a relatively new term, ‘pansexual’, a certain fluidity of attraction based on a _person_ , not gender, that may describe my later years, if not so much the past. While females have always attracted me most, I have more recently sought to learn about – and appreciate – others such as trans people, intersex, cross-dressers, and so on. And I have no problem saying that I have loved certain of them, including more than one at the same time. Details must be divulged much later, however.

Meantime, I should mention once again that, while discouraged, our philosophy did not forbid full penetrative sex with those under 12-ish, albeit age differences of no more than a couple of years were standard for the young, primarily for reasons of size incompatibilities in addition to emotional maturity. Despite this, I found myself pursued not by Laura but Carrie for our last few days in camp. I could tell that she wanted more than just a licking or to let her jack me off, so I thought I’d approach her father with the dilemma (don’t be surprised; we were raised to be respectful and open in such a way).

Even so, I felt far from comfortable sitting naked across a small camper dining table from an equally naked adult male who, despite his affable – even submissive – nature, I was about to profess my desire to fuck his very young daughter. He spared me the effort.

“I know,” he chortled, grinning through mass of black hair and beard. “Carrie’s a relentless little minx, aye? Just like her mum.” He poured me a glass of Coke, added a splash of rum, took a couple of swallows of his own.

“I... uhh... Y-You know?” Nervously, I sipped.

“Yeah, I know she’s been following you all about lately. Ever since the night you all spent together. And I know what she wants, though she probably doesn’t herself. Plus, her birthday comes up next week.”

“So, uhh... what... What should I do?”

“Be gentle. Give her what she wants, but be gentle. You’re a pretty big young lad – at least down undah! – and she’s still young. Small and fragile.”

I knew he wasn’t only referring to his daughter’s physical attributes. “But...”

“No worries, mate. I know you – I know you’ll do right by her. Yeah, she’s young, but her mum started not much later. And you know how to treat her – I’ve seen you with her.” He laughed. “HA! I’ve seen you fuck her mum, lad! And you give pretty good head, so I’ve seen and as I recall.”

A better endorsement from a father perhaps never was offered.

Therefore, I welcomed the next opportunity to walk young Carrie hand-in-hand through the woods, nude, on our way to a private picnic. Before we got very far along the lakeshore, she begged me to piggyback her, like when she was little.

“But you’re too big now,” I protested half-heartedly. Honestly, I welcomed the sensation of bare preteen skin on mine, coltish legs wrapped around me, hot cunny pressed against—

No sooner had I thought it than the girl mounted me; the only surprise, hard tiny nipples threatening to punch twin holes into my back – doubtless a prognostication of the bodacious mammaries they’d become within a few short years.

Despite my ‘hall pass’ (we had no such term then) I still felt nervous as a long-tailed cat in a roomful of rocking chairs as I packed the naked child along the rough trail. Thankful for my sneakers against all kinds of forest debris, I at last stopped, setting her down, giggling, at a level clearing by the shore; slung the picnic bag off my sweaty shoulder while trying to ignore the slick trail Carrie’s sultry crevice had left. Spreading our blanket, she sat cross-legged upon it, I’m sure at least partly aware how her bare little cleft split, shiny and inviting; grinned half-shyly, half-lasciviously, in that way girls evince unconsciously, as I doled out our sandwiches and other comestibles.

Carrie chattered on about childish girly stuff, to which I paid solemn attention and made pithy comments, trying to keep my attention on her and not her... parts. I had smuggled a little red wine in a small thermos bottle; offered her a cupful. Her eyes widened, tasting it; probably thought it grape juice – the unfermented kind. I smiled, taking the shared cup and sipping, now paring and coring an apple for her after we finished the wine. As if instinctually, the girl laid down, head on my upper groin as I fed her the rest of the apple, pushing slices between suffused young lips. The utter trust I saw in soft brown eyes through long lashes, moved me to the point of a clenched gut, even as they hooded, then closed. Almost purring contentedly, I believe she fell asleep briefly as I stroked dark hair, cheeks, pert nose, parted lips.

Exploring young flesh goose-bumped in the breeze – including barely swollen swellings on otherwise shallow chest – I noted bugs whining and hovering just as my mind compared burgeoning titties to mosquito bites; broke out small pump bottles of _Off!_ , directing squirts into one hand to massage it into soft skin. Simultaneously kneading in warmth and pliancy – not that the girl needed much of either – soon she began to squirm, murmuring in half-sleep; head turned toward my stiffening member, hand reaching to essay a grip and start a slow rhythm. I knew sticking a finger coated in bug repellent into any kind of orifice would likely sting like hell, so I wet my hands with spit to get the nasty stuff off, drying on a towel; dipped into a jar of Vaseline. Only then did I explore around the child’s groin; pressed the heel of my palm gently on small pubic bone; fingers outlined tender cuntlips, mixing petroleum jelly with natural lubricant; tip barely penetrating at last when her legs spread involuntarily, a moan escaped lips that parted to join the hand around my swollen shaft.

Awake, the girl murmured and crooned, writhing rhythmically as I worked nearly my entire finger into her clenching hole while she tried to concentrate on my cock. Although I enjoy cunnilingus and knew she liked receiving, I sensed skipping the oral stage this time would be more than acceptable, especially when she abandoned my dick to squirm and paw at me, head lolling in near-abandonment, instinctively wanting what she didn’t yet fully realise. Even so, I couldn’t resist rising to place her in an almost upside-down position, head and shoulders on the blanket as I raised narrow hips, dirty bare feet waving in the air; lowered my face into heated opening to add more spit and draw out as much girl-juice as I could. Nibbling tiny hidden clit, I made sure she came before all at once picking her up to straddle my waist; gasping at the suddenness and doubtless novel sensations, I positioned the tip of my straining prick to barely part ready cleft. Lowering her bit by bit, the girl would have none of it, instead impaling herself fully on my rigid maleness, shrieking like a forest banshee as her little maidenhead popped and I bottomed out in constricted depths, perhaps three-quarters buried.

My guilt at possibly hurting her passed in an instant; hanging on to me desperately, Carrie came again, shuddering. I began a slow stroke with my own hips and by raising and lowering hers, until her own urgency intensified to another quaking orgasm and I jetted a full load into the gratified child. Only when I lowered us both to the blanket and her incredible grip at last relaxed a fraction so I could slip out, did I notice cum, streaks of virgin blood intermingled, oozing from narrow red nether lips, and realised I’d forgotten a rubber.


	24. Only Sitter in Town - Pt 21

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> See Pts 1-20 and _Sister Summers Pts 1-3_ for setup. Our summer camping trip is over, and my babysitting career also winds down as lessons are given and learned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TAGS: Oral; m/g; m/f/g; all participants are fictional or of age to be involved in consensual sexual activity.

I do not advocate deflowering a girl at the age of eight or nine – or any other age, for that matter, boys included. Even so, hopefully I’ve made it clear that age is no barrier to enjoying sexual pleasure; a human doesn’t automatically become a sexual being by achieving a certain ‘age of majority’ – which incidentally vary country-to-country, from 14 to 21, with inconsistencies, such as a 15-year-old cannot consent to sex with someone over 21, although younger is acceptable. I understand laws are there to protect the vulnerable; but if society – especially parents – would do their jobs properly, such laws would be superfluous (and again, see cultures where they haven’t been needed for millennia). I have expounded on this subject before, so will not repeat myself (additionally, note that I’m not dismissing the role of parenting as simple). I just wish to be clear that I don’t promote the taking or losing of virginity at any given age; humans develop physically, emotionally, spiritually, mentally, at very different rates, and neither do these four aspects mature in lockstep.

Primarily, it’s my intent to state here that our philosophy is to treat virginity as not exactly sacred but certainly highly esteemed and worthy of very careful handling. Further, despite my misgivings as to her youth, Carrie is one of those precociously mature females – at least emotionally – as well as one mentioned previously who can fuck all night and day; fortunately, I was a horny teen, and could oblige her shortly, making rambunctious love on the stony shore, rubber johnny this time in place, in the summer breeze until we heard calls for lunch.

Unfortunately, the girl developed a nearly smothering crush on me; if I thought Laura had been clingy... But then, that is one of the considerations when dealing with sexuality – at any age; nine-year-olds don’t have an exclusive claim on obsession, hero-worship, jealousy, or being a stalker; people are _supposed to_ mature out of such behaviour. On the other hand, Carrie proved eager to learn to please, and not just with handjobs.

Her first opportunity arrived when Faye and I took a turn babysitting the youngsters on one of our last nights in camp. We could fit them all into the two campers, Faye and I playing cards at the small table of one – the one in which Carrie ‘couldn’t sleep’.

“I can’t sleep.”

When I said that Faye and I were “playing cards”, I meant that we had been, but at that moment she was under the table blowing me as payment for losing. Carrie’s interruption startled her to the point of banging her head on the table; fortunately she didn’t bite my dick off.

Carrie giggled, not having to stoop far to peer beneath the table.

“Wh-What... ummm... What do you w-want?” I quavered.

“Some of what she’s having.” (I admit I’m paraphrasing.)

There being little room under the table, we cleared it away, laving a small seating area that comfortably accommodated three. Faye turned into a willing ‘big sister’ mentor, me squished between two eager girls.

“Alright... Watch me.” She rose to put a pillow on the floor between my feet.

Carrie remained, one leg curled beneath tight butt, fingers exploring ready sex, the other hand travelling over my damp skin.

Kneeling, Faye began anew, teasing the head of my cock with tongue-tip, gripping the shaft and squeezing my balls with fingers of both hands. Sucking each into her warm mouth, she double-stroked me; since I’d already been wound up and now had a naked, avid preteen groping me, watching open-mouthed, I didn’t last long. The older blonde thrust her face into my groin as I began to spurt; Carrie made _oohing_ noises, then seeming to hold her breath as Faye hung on, swallowing all I had to offer.

“W-Wow...”

Faye wiped her lips, licking residue from long fingers. “It usually takes longer – with him, anyway. But it’s okay – you can learn better this way. Take my spot here.”

The girls traded places, Carrie’s avid gaze never leaving my still erect cock.

“You’ve never done this before?”

“Uhh...” Carrie essayed a tentative lick.

“She has – sort of,” I offered. “Carrie likes to catch cum in her mouth. And she’s seen blowjobs often enough.”

“Blowjob,” the younger girl responded, as if testing out the word prior to its practice.

Faye took over again.  “Alright.” Proceeded to direct protégé’s hands, tongue, lips, teeth... Carrie took to it readily – perhaps too much so, gagging as she attempted to deepthroat.

“You’re not ready for that,” the blonde advised. “You’ll need more practice – lots more. Just concentrate on sucking... Use your tongue at the same time... That’s it... up and down... around the head... Keep your hands busy – on his butt or body if you want. Some like to do hands-free, but we can try that later.”

I groaned, the preteen’s eagerness easily overcoming lack of experience as I blew a second load down her clenching throat.

“Whoa! You really like that, don’t you?” Faye stroked Carrie’s hair, feeling her quiver and hum as the young girl’s own orgasm triggered. “Swallowing, I mean. Cool... You don’t have to, you know.”

“I know.” _Lick._ “I like it.” _Lick, lick._ “Cummmmm...”

I couldn’t believe it; I actually came again, the combination of sensory inputs and the youngster’s own nearly spontaneous orgasm overwhelming me. I may even have passed out for a moment, as the next thing I knew the girls once more sat either side of me, a hand each, smearing cum around my withering dick as they kissed each other across my chest, the smell of cum swapped between them causing me another quaking moan. My balls were too empty and a bit sore, or I likely would have shot again as I joined the kiss.

“Y-You need to... to l-learn to l-lick pussy, too,” I managed after a bit.

Taking their spot on the pillow, I positioned Faye, spreading long white legs so her fuzzy cunt parted, juices twinkling along swollen red lips even in the dim lantern light. I brought it down from its hook, placing it on the table at an angle to illuminate the shining panorama for our young pupil, who bent close enough I felt her breath hot in my ear. I’m not much for verbal instruction, preferring to demonstrate instead. Besides, Mother taught us not to talk with our mouth full.

Thus, after rising to knead breasts, nibble and tweak nipples and flat tummy, I kissed and licked my way from one foot, down the leg, skipping the flaming centre before travelling up its twin and back. Faye moaned and jerked as I teased along her outer labia, hips lifting as if to help my aim. At last I stabbed with stiffened tongue, lancing into her and just as suddenly licking upward, across swollen red clit. The blonde jumped, squeaked; shuddered as I essayed a long lick up her slippery twat, grabbing the love button with teeth and lips, sucking as if to swallow it whole. An index finger followed up the tight passage, swapped out for a larger, middle finger after starting a slow fuck-pace. Gathering speed, I matched licks and suckles, altering rate of one or the other until the teen screeched and convulsed, grabbing the back of my head as though to keep my head firmly in place even as she tried to buck me off.

Carrie proved equally adept at cunnilingus, albeit I believe to this day she prefers seeing – and feeling and tasting – flying cum.


	25. High School Sweethearts - Pt 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> See _Only Sitter in Town Pts 1-21_ and _Sister Summers Pts 1-3_ for setup. I return to school, acquiring a foot fetish after a supposedly innocent event. Babysitting jobs dwindle as the kids grow up and care for themselves and each other, but I continue my sexual adventures.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TAGS: School; ‘slavery’; mild coercion; groping; m/m/f; all participants are fictional or of age to be involved in consensual sexual activity.

I had entered Grade 10 or 11 before I took my first job aside from babysitting at a neighbouring lodge near the Demetrios’. The Lowells moved away, and as I’ve mentioned, nearly all the kids I babysat had grown up enough anyway. But before I get to my new jobs, I want to take you back to school.

Our tiny school combined Kindergarten all the way to Grade 12; no, it was not nudist. Even so, many of my nudist friends went there, and we continued to get up to sexual shenanigans, going so far as to get in trouble with the law at least once – but I’ll get there eventually. Until then, one of my most vivid memories is of a ‘slave auction’ we had as a school fundraiser. Each class tried to raise the most money, the class in last place being auctioned off to the one in first.

The auction was held in the gymnasium, where the slaves stood behind screens set up on the stage that hid everything except their feet – which they had to bare – and on the gym floor the winning class bid on nothing else. I wasn’t in either winning or losing group, but I knew that Cindy Muller belonged to one pair of cute bare feet – they were mostly girls’, and I thought I could tell the difference (most of the losing boys refused to participate anyway, feeling it beneath their dignity). I collaborated with Cathy’s – from our sleepover at the Demetrios’ resort – brother Mike to try to buy at least one out of about a dozen slaves, preferably Cindy.

Cindy was one of the best-looking girls in school: tall and curvy; long, wavy brown hair; shiny hazel eyes; perfect, full tits. And dumber than your proverbial sack of hammers. I don’t want to be sexist or mean, but in my teen years I was pretty much like most other boys, hoping that we could separate her from her over-protective older sister, Jane – the opposite in virtually every way of her sibling: short, dull blonde, dumpy, and one of the smartest girls in our school. (I couldn’t even see how they were related, but whatever.) The auction provided perhaps the perfect opportunity.

Therefore, we cheated; the auction was supposed to be blind, but we conspired with various schoolmates to figure out which pair of delectable bare feet belonged to Cindy, and pooled our resources to buy her. (I admit salivating over essentially all the titillating toes; I believe this is where my foot fetish set in for real, doubtless after seeing my sibs and cousins likewise for many years but never making a sexual connection till now.)

We intended to bid on as many slaves as we could afford, reserving enough for Cindy. I don’t recall exactly how it worked out, but we ended up with two slaves including Cindy, the other being a female schoolmate whose name I forget, but who wasn’t in our inner circle either. I do recall that Cathy’s brother Mike used her as a ‘pony’, making her let him ride her (he was a small guy), carry his books around, feed him lunch, and so on. That was how it was supposed to work: they would be slaves for the rest of the school day only.

Now, I had two best friends in high school named Mark and Dale; Mark was a dark little guy with glasses and a harelip; Dale being tall, curly-blonde and blue-eyed, over whom most girls swooned. We didn’t have to do much convincing to get Dale to ‘distract’ Plain Jane; doubtless flattered by the attention, we lost sight of them both for pretty much the entire day – suiting our purposes just fine.

Though we had paid Mike to bid on Cindy, he told her that he’d sold her to me and Mark; we proceeded to use her much the same as described above. However, we managed to convince her that she was ours for not just the school day, and so got her to carry our books home to my place. (Since my parents both worked the evening shift that week, we’d have it to ourselves till about midnight.) To shorten the tale, after some card games including strip poker where Mark and I blatantly cheated and got her stripped to panties and bra, we made Cindy cook and serve us dinner (KD, as I doubt she could manage much more, since I even had to coach her in that), wearing a frilly pink apron belonging to my stepmother – again convincing her that it was totally within the ‘rules’. Mike and I ‘lost’ a few hands and stripped to our own underwear, purportedly to make her feel more comfortable.

I should mention that, despite his harelip and lack of looks, Mike’s reputation – well-deserved – happened to be that he had a huge cock; it became pretty obvious that Cindy was aware of the rumour, as she kept glancing at his crotch far more often than at mine, soon being rewarded with a growing bulge in my pal’s undershorts that she couldn’t take her eyes off. Her shining brown eyes fair popped from her head, which didn’t help the way they unfortunately betrayed her lack of intelligence, reinforced by the way her full mouth hung open, tiny pink tongue roving over crooked white teeth.

I finally said something to the effect of her wanting to see what Mark was hiding in his underpants, to which she mouthed her usual, “Whaaat?” while not taking gaze from crotch.

“Want to see if it’s true?” I continued.

“Whaaat?”

Ignoring the girl’s intellect and dentition, Cindy would in any era have been considered a ‘10’. Despite this, we called her ‘Sweetums’, a corruption of the nickname Sweetie that we’d previously bestowed, after a hairy, ugly character resembling a sasquatch from The Muppets special “The Frog Prince”. We liked the irony, albeit the intent was, admittedly, to impugn the girl’s smarts (Sweetums also not being the sharpest knife in the drawer).

Anyway, in bra and panties and pinafore, doubtless our mouths hung a little slack as well, albeit I, at least, retained enough intellect to plot how we’d remove all imagination.

Mark turned his chair, spread stubby legs; trouser snake poked its head out along one leg as Cindy stared and licked her lips.

“If you want to see more, you’ll have to help yourself, Sweetums.”

“Wha-Whaaat?”

I got up to take her by an elbow to stand in front of my friend. “Kneel down.”

Vibrating like a paint shaker, the poor girl did as bidden, kneeling on the green carpet. I moved my hand up a goose-fleshed arm to take the slack hand and place it on Mark’s straining bulge, consciously avoiding actual dick contact. Doing likewise with the girl’s other hand, I swear Mark deliberately made it twitch and dance. Seemingly mesmerised, Cindy’s hands began to move over my friend’s crotch, flesh magnetically drawn to flesh until shorts pooled around ankles and large prick stood full and proud in a two-handed female grip. I took the opportunity to essay the firmness of twin mounds that overfilled the teen’s bra, able to feel nipples rising even through the heavy, plain white material as well as apron linen. Untying the latter’s top and bottom strings, I made it disappear; a nimble flick of fingers and wrist had bra unhooked and slipping off, though I’m pretty sure the girl didn’t notice until my hands squeezed bared tits, pinching the stiff caps until—

The outside door opening broke the entire mood; mad scrambles for clothing were interrupted by giggles abruptly curtailed in a gasp of horror as Jane emerged at the kitchen entrance: Flushed and obviously having been up to no good, shirt unbuttoned mid-tummy, revealing glimpses of pudgy flesh and black brassiere. Dale stood by equally rosy but grinning, hands slowly dropping from his ‘date’ as grin turned sly.

“Wh-What the _fuck_!?” Jane shrieked. “What’re you doing with my _sister_?”

All kinds of pithy responses come to mind now, but at the time I don’t think anyone said a word. We were all half-dressed and more or less equally red-faced, aroused, and less-than-innocent looking.

Nonetheless, the setup had worked perfectly; now to bring it to a successful conclusion.


	26. High School Sweethearts - Pt 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> See _Only Sitter in Town Pts 1-21_ , _High School Sweethearts Pt 1_ , and _Sister Summers Pts 1-3_ for context. My first encounter with sisters Jane and Cindy concludes; I return from ‘Band Camp’.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TAGS: Underage drinking; drunkenness; oral; mutual masturbation; menstruation; m+/f+; all participants are fictional or of age to be involved in consensual sexual activity.

Incensed, Jane spat, “ _FUCKERS!_ ”

Mark ended up not bothering with pants, as the bossy blonde took control and started ordering everyone around, starting with him.

“Leave ’em off! Think you’ll fuck my sister, eh? Bastards! Cindy, put your clothes back on. I’ll deal with these sons-a-bitches.”

Dale tried to intervene. “Jane, honey...”

“Get your hands off me, bastard! You’re in on this, aren’t you? Get over there with your pals.” She buttoned up her shirt, trying to effect the prim elder sister once more.

To our great disappointment, her younger sibling complied, dressing hastily but sloppily.

“Playing games, eh? Well, I’ve got a game for you – it’s called, ‘What Will I Do to Not Get Reported for Statutory Rape?’”

“But... Jane...” Cindy still had not taken eager gaze from Mark’s half-hidden prick. “I want to see...”

“Hussy! You don’t know what you want. What have I told you about guy— _Shit!_ ” Jane had just espied Mark’s cock, still emerging from tighty-whities despite his futilely trying to tuck it away and block it with crossed hands. She told him to move them, but failure to instantly comply caused her to approach and yank them away. Since I stood right beside him, cock tenting my own undershorts, I saw her grey eyes widen, broad mouth dropping open as the room went silent but for our cuckoo clock interrupting to broadcast the top of the hour.

“Uhhh...”

Although Jane all at once sounded about as intelligent as her sister, there is something about even an unattractive girl or woman overcome by lust; suffused skin over avid expression has, at least in my opinion, an allure all its own.

“F-Fuck...” Jane licked her lips as Mark made his dick twitch; she lost all reserve by yanking his underwear to the floor as she dropped to her knees. I swear his prick leapt at her, smacking her across the face as she instinctively went after it as if bobbing for apples. Leaving off engaging with mouth for now, both pudgy hands wrapped comfortably around it so she could scope its prodigious length, as if to see what hid inside its perturbed eye.

I couldn’t help drawing out my own stiffie, jacking as I watched. From the corner of one eye on my other side I saw Dale massaging his own bulge. Taking advantage of her sister’s entrancement, Cindy took the spot in front of him, relieving him of all impediment to her own perusal of his engorged privates. Between us, we stripped her again, this time with the teen’s willing assistance; I couldn’t help a stroke along slickening cleft, eliciting a shiver as she crouched back down.

Cindy appeared to take cues from big sis, constantly glancing over and copying a slow, two-handed tug, followed by tentative licks around glans, tip, shaft, yet soon finding her own rhythm. Jane’s inspection of Mark continued, lifting and weighing, peering all around heavy ballsack. Trying to keep track of both shows, I managed to see Cindy stuff Dale’s prick halfway down her throat, gagging as he abruptly lost his load.

“Mmm-Mphff!” Dribbling onto the carpet, the brunette wiped and licked away the dregs from fingers and chin. Apparently deciding she liked it – or at least wasn’t disgusted – tentatively cleaned remaining drops.

I almost couldn’t believe Jane didn’t seem to notice, much less intervene, but I suppose she had her own distractions.

Suddenly feeling warm wetness on my own maleness, my gaze once more wrenched from the blonde measuring the inner circumference of her mouth against the head of Mark’s cock as Cindy jammed her mouth on me. My hands automatically travelled up soft shoulders to grip the back of her head so I could gently fuck her throat. Dale stepped over and leaned in from behind to fondle round tits. Next to us, Jane started making half-gurgling, half-strangled noises as she tried to stuff as much big prick down her throat, gripping Mark’s little ass cheeks as though to prevent him fleeing. I noted my friend’s impressive stamina even as I grunted, shooting my spunk into the prettier girl’s mouth to join my friend’s; this time the brunette managed it better, murmuring and slurping, even swallowing some.

I couldn’t believe it when she scooted over, nudging sis to make room on Mark’s prick; a dazed glance the only reaction from the elder other than to diffidently remove her mouth and allow another hand on the shared meatstick. Together they jacked the big-little guy, aiming his explosion all over keen faces as he jerked and grunted, nearly falling in the process.

I heard the clock ticking again until suddenly Jane yelled, “Shit! Fuck! Get me a towel.”

Naturally we had every intention of continuing and ‘going all the way’ with both girls, but after I fulfilled Jane’s demand and the siblings hastily wiped each other down, elder hustled younger into clothing and out the door, glaring at us and muttering all the while.

But I would get more of both later.

‘Later’ took a while, perhaps as long as the following year, since Jane acted all offended and furious with us for as long as I can remember, if anything keeping her little sis on even shorter strings. The only time they seemed to separate was while in class; being in different grades, they couldn’t help it. Unfortunately, I was in Jane’s grade, not Cindy’s.

Luckily, the school band combined Grades 8 to 12, and all three of us – Jane, Cindy, and I – participated. Although one might suspect that Cindy didn’t have the aptitude or coordination to read music and play an instrument, she was pretty damn good at blowing a trumpet (pun intended). In case you’re curious, I played clarinet, Jane a saxophone.

In senior high we made a few trips to rather distant communities for concerts and competitions; I recall one where we returned quite late, something like 10:00 or 11:00 pm. Darkness found us long before we took to the road home in the back of the school bus. A male friend – named Kevin, I think – smuggled a mickey of whiskey aboard, while someone else had vodka, another, rum.

I’m sure readers can guess that a number of us got soused in virtually no time at all; in the rear of the bus we fumbled at clothing, kissing and groping in the dark. I admit I had no idea whose hand or mouth grabbed my cock at a given time, although I naturally could tell the difference between a cock and a pussy when I opened zippers and delved into pants. Admittedly I was ‘grossed out’ at finding dick, but that was only because of the stigma at the time against being queer. In any event I left off in search of firm boobs and wet quim instead, finding it easily amongst bodies strewn across the double bench seat.

I also admit I don’t know the actual numbers or ages of participants in our quasi-orgy; most younger kids weren’t allowed on these trips because of their lateness, so I don’t recall there being more than a half-dozen under 15-ish, and I think most of them fell asleep up front before the fun started anyway. I only know that both Cindy and Jane got drunk and joined the semi-naked bodies in the back, groping and licking and sucking again, this time with inebriated abandon. I managed good feels of firm tits and tweakable nipples, as well as getting fingers well lubed in slick cunnies. Putting previous lessons in manually pleasing women to good practice, I elicited more than one orgasm, I’m sure, even as I spent uncounted loads into willing mouths or spilt over hands and splattered seatbacks. (I’m sure whoever had to clean that bus was not impressed; I wondered then that we didn’t get reported and into trouble, even from the driver.) I recall wishing it had been comfortable enough or even possible to eat some pussy too, or even fuck, but I also fuzzily remember that, even though I tried, the girls for some reason weren’t too accommodating (the vague reminiscence of bloodscent under alcohol, cum, and cunt juice might explain that).

My parents were in bed – or maybe at work – by the time I literally stumbled through our door, crawling up the stairs and into bed, even though I doubt they would have said or done much about my state. Yet, I’m now sure they knew regardless, and thought that the two-day headache and sickness that followed was lesson enough.

Even so, once recovered I still badly wanted to fuck Cindy, if not Jane, but...


	27. Sister Summers Pt 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> See _Only Sitter in Town Pts 1-21_ , _High School Sweethearts Pts 1 & 2_, and _Sister Summers Pts 1-3_ for setup. I travel to my Mom’s and Stepdad’s for a last summer with cousins and siblings, having an encounter on the way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TAGS: Voyeurism; exhibitionism; first time; oral; masturbation; m/f/F; all participants are fictional or of age to be involved in consensual sexual activity.

I believe the road trip I described last chapter happened after my bus ride back to the farm for one last summer as a kid (I’m pretty sure I was a bit younger at this time, maybe 16). I met a very cool girl of about 12 or 13 on the Greyhound. Although she was only going about half as far as me, we still got about five or six hours together once she got on in the next community en route.

An old lady (she was maybe in her forties, but from a young teen’s perspective...) also boarded at the same place, albeit they weren’t together. Unfortunately, I forget both their names, so I’ll call the teen Denise; the older lady, Mary. Mary had obviously done her best to dry the bottom of at least one bottle of vodka, adding to her count during the evening and well into the night. In addition to contributing to the delinquency of two minors, she— Well, I’ll get there.

On a Greyhound I always liked to get the back, triple seat if I could; much better for stretching out and sleeping – my trips were almost always overnight or at least very long – even though I frequently had to share or didn’t get it at all. This time luck was totally on my side, although I didn’t think so at first. Mary took the empty, second-last seat in front of me, which meant all doubles were now occupied. Denise, wearing a light pink jacket, matching slacks, tight white t-shirt revealing a promise of titties, blinked her deep brown eyes at me, then the drunken lady, and back again. Making up her mind with a shrug of narrow shoulders and a shake of brunette curls, she asked if she could have the seat beside me; I was trying to fill all three by sitting in the middle, my fishing tackle box, jacket, et al. occupying as much space as possible.

At first I was annoyed, but quickly decided she was cute... “Err... Y-Yeah... sure.” I moved my stuff as the old lady chuckled, slurring something like ‘Sure, I bet’ in a gravelly voice.

Since night had already enveloped us, once we got underway the only light came from the bus’ overhead reading lights, fitfully from occasional passing vehicles and community streetlamps. I usually tried to read, although after a while it gave me a headache or made me carsick, so normally I just slept. This time, I don’t recall my exact ice-breaking move – or even if I initiated it – but before long Denise moved our stuff to the aisle seat, scooting over into the middle one beside me where I sat at the darkened window. Mary continued a drunken chatter that we couldn’t really make out but found somewhat amusing – and not a little uncomfortable. To ease the tension – and impress Denise – I started telling jokes, getting dirtier and dirtier. Mary found them all hilarious, though I’m not sure whether Denise felt titillated or shocked – probably both – but she played along, giggling and briefly putting a warm hand here-and-there on me, though not yet in any ‘special’ place.

The worst disadvantage about the very back seat in a travel bus is of course the washroom door constantly banging open and closed, not to mention the traffic back there, even in the wee hours of the night. So, even when I began to tentatively explore the apparently willing youngster beside me as she cuddled up, head on my shoulder, I felt some reluctance to go very far, at first for reasons of audience as well as obtaining permission. This changed when one of my non-PC jokes caused me to start talking in a faux-French accent, which Mary copied, saying, “ _Par‑DONN_?” to one of our comments.

“Did you say, ‘ _Hard-ONN_ ’?” I mimicked. By this time I had developed a decent one, feeling both excited and embarrassed that Denise might discover it.

Mary chuckled throatily, muttering something we couldn’t make out again.

I don’t know what made me bold enough to respond, “Sorry, I _cunt_ hear you – I have an _infucktion_ in my ear.” Doubtless the encouragement from one nubile female and a tipsy older one helped.

I felt Denise hold her breath, expel it in a low giggle.

“Yer a dirty young man, ya know,” Mary growled, peering over the back of her seat. I got the impression she was still not angry or offended. “Yoush’d be caref’l what ya shay to ladiesh. I should wash yer mouth out. But I got no shoap. Here – try thish.”

I accepted the brown-bagged bottle somewhat reluctantly, not knowing exactly how clean she might be. But when I felt Denise trembling and holding her breath again, I had to show off for the girl, so took a healthy swig. Offering it to her, I felt her head shake, but Mary wouldn’t take no for an answer.

It may have been the girl’s first taste of alcohol, I don’t know; nonetheless it seemed to embolden her immediately. Handing the bottle back, I began to feel Denise’s leg; she placed a warm hand over mine, as if to track my movements without direction nor impediment. After traveling from firm knee to hip a couple of times and a little way inside and in between, I moved hers to my own thigh. She didn’t do anything for a while, though I felt her breathing deepen, heartbeat quicken.

“What’re yoush two doin’? Yer too quiet. Have another shnort.”

We both froze as the bottle changed possession again. When Mary’s head disappeared in the gloom, I continued, this time essaying a trail over Denise’s tummy, side, arm, shoulder. I squirmed a little in my seat, trying to get my straining bulge into her hand, so maddeningly close yet obdurately quiescent.

“I... I’m tired,” the girl murmured. “Could you... C-Could you turn off the lights?”

As Mary snorted, I switched off our reading lamps.

I jumped as Denise’s hand shot right over my crotch; for stretched seconds she didn’t move it, then began a tentative probe-and-squeeze of the precincts. I’m not sure what she thought, just that her breath felt heavy and hot on my neck as she shifted, our hearts thumping in time in the gloom. I got a hand under her tight tee, finding her smooth bra. Rubbing and squeezing gently, I nuzzled forehead, cheek, neck, nipping and tonguing here-and-there. So distracted was she at this, her own explorations stopped, until I closed my hand over hers and pressed it over my by-now struggling dick.

“I want...” she whispered. “I want...”

Fairly certain I knew what the girl wanted, I kissed her; again, all movement but heartbeat ceased as I explored her warm mouth, sucking tongue and tasting vodka. I got her bra up over her little boobs and thumbed each nipple; imagining them pink and puffy, I tried to pull her shirt up, wanting desperately to see and suckle them. Yet sudden shyness or ‘correctness’ took over, and she grabbed my hand; instead, I used it to explore her as-yet clad crotch as the other took over nipple-nabbing.

Though her thighs stayed closed, she didn’t tighten them; gradually, they seemed to part with no apparent conscious thought on her part.

By this time we had forgotten all about Mary, but when someone came coughing to the washroom, we both froze. I’m pretty sure they couldn’t see anything, although I thought I saw a head ducking below the seat as I glanced up. I continued landing little pecks around Denise’s face and soft hair, our hands remaining relatively still until the bathroom vacated once more.

The girl began to squirm as I quested for her fly and zipper; it seemed she didn’t want to struggle against me, yet neither did she feel right about being too ‘easy’ and helping directly. I settled for slipping my hand into her pants, right along flat tummy beneath panties and down into a warm furrow with no discernible pussy hair that drew a start and gasp. Stiffening and putting hands by hips as if to brace herself, she surrendered to my finger along and then probing her tight little snatch. Tongue down her throat, I found her surprisingly big clitty, drawing it out from between slick narrow lips as her first orgasm – perhaps ever, I like to flatter myself – seized her, a muffled shout erupting that would have awakened the entire bus, I’m sure, had my mouth not been smothering hers.

I thought I heard an appreciative moan from the seat ahead, but kept concentrating on getting Denise off again and again; talk about a multi-orgasmic girl! I don’t think she stopped quivering and cumming for ten minutes. Though I urgently wanted to fuck her, or at least get a blowjob, I didn’t want to pressure, much less scare, the obvious virgin, so eased off as she ‘came down’. She all at once seemed to nod off as her head pressed against my shoulder again, so I asked if she wanted to lie in my lap.

Without reply, she scooted down, adjusting clothing and pulling my jacket over legs and hips. As her ear contacted my painful bulge, she started, repositioning herself higher up my stomach. After some time, I was sure she’d fallen asleep, but, just as I began to drowse myself despite my discomfort, I felt a hand stealing along my leg to crotch. Her squeezing and prodding became unbearable; I had to relieve the pressure, if not give her encouragement, by lowering my own zipper. Even so, her hand kept feeling the tight fabric of my underwear, again maddeningly long until a quick dive inside found the top of my briefs and my cock sprang free, seeming to shock her.

I felt a warm explosion of breath across my dick as Denise grabbed for it; holding it still a moment as if to make it out in the dark, she at last began a natural stroke that unfortunately lasted about thirty seconds before I jerked, groaning as I shot a pent-up load I-don’t-know-where. This time I _know_ I heard a mature moan alongside Denise’s gasp, even though when my head came forward and eyes focussed once more, I saw nothing in the darkness but another figure moving toward the bathroom. Grabbing the jacket, I pulled it up over my lap, where Denise snickered under it uncontrollably, grip not relaxing on my prick as she kept it at full flag – though it wouldn’t have taken much effort regardless.

I let her play, including tests with lips and tongue, cumming once or twice more, till I fell asleep.


	28. Sister Summers Pt 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> See _Only Sitter in Town Pts 1-22_ , _High School Sweethearts Pts 1 & 2_, and _Sister Summers Pts 1-4_ for setup. I reminisce during the remainder of my bus trip.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TAGS: Voyeurism; exhibitionism; instruction; first time; oral; bath; m/f; m/g; all participants are fictional or of age to be involved in consensual sexual activity.

“Did ya know that was going to happen?”

The rough whispered question woke me; disoriented, I had the wherewithal to pretend I still slept.

Girlish voice: “Well, yeah... sorta.”

Mature chuckle: “Did ya like it?”

“Yeah... It was... cool.”

“Ya wanna do more?”

“I want to see it.”

“Go ahead – I’m sure he won’t mind.”

By now I could tell it was still dark, though I sensed a light on; my seat’s, focused onto my lap. Feeling a head bend over, I realised my jacket had been removed as a hand extracted and enwrapped my softened dick.

“Careful now... It’s like a kitten: soft and cuddly, but it has claws if yer too rough.”

 _Giggle._ “What do you mean?”

“Meaning a guy’s penis is sensitive – especially his balls. Testicles.”

“Oh.”

The pressure fell off a bit, even as I felt myself hardening in an inexpert grasp.

“And ya can’t tease them without release – eventually. It hurts.”

“What?”

“Meaning it’s all well and good to play, or tease, but it’s cruel not to let a guy cum after a while. Or their balls hurt. But don’t let 'em tell ya that if ya haven’t been deliberately teasing.”

“Uhh... Cum?”

“Ejaculate... When the white stuff comes out – semen.”

“Oh. Does it happen every time?”

“ _Hmmph!_ Did yer mother teach ya nothin'? _Shhh! Someone’s coming!_ ”

In a few minutes the whispered lesson continued, Mary instructing the teen regarding how to deal with the results of a hand- or blowjob.

“Ya can let it fly – but that can be messy, as ya saw. Or spit it out all over his dick or into a tissue. Or lick it up and swallow it.”

“ _Wh-What?_ Yuck!”

Suffice to say that Denise received instruction, and I came again, this time in the girl’s mouth. I don’t think she liked it, based on the sounds prior to those of spitting into a wad of tissues chuckling Mary gave her. All the same, the older woman told her she did well, and would get used to it – if she wanted to. I had ceased pretending sleep, kissing soft damp lips as I met Mary’s grinning grey eyes over the intervening seat.

Denise and I fell asleep for real, shortly parting ways at her stop after a few more shy kisses goodbye and a tear or two. Although I got her number and address, and we wrote each other a couple of times, we lost contact after not too long. (Recall again, this was well before the days of email and texting, let alone Facebook etc.) I don’t remember Mary’s stop – I think it was before Denise’s – but all I recollect her saying to both of us was how she remembered and liked a particular non-PC joke I’d told the night before.

The remainder of the trip was uneventful, but I will use the time and space to reminisce about a different encounter I’m reminded of that I had maybe a year-or-so earlier during a winter my Dad, Stepmom, and I visited friends in another town. It may have been Christmas; regardless, we built snowforts and tobogganed, so it had to be winter. And there’s another reason I distinctly recall the season.

The Holts had a daughter and son around my age; I can’t quite remember who was older, but I believe I had about a year or two on both. However, they introduced me to a younger, black neighbour girl of about ten-ish – actually, I think it was my parents who got us playing together. Regardless, for some reason I found myself sledding alone with her, feeling a bit uncomfortable, since I didn’t know her (and can’t recall why my friends weren’t playing with us). She quickly familiarised herself with me, however.

Sledding down moderately-sized snow piles soon turned into game of ‘King-of-the-Hill’, as she – I’ll call her Tandy – initiated roughhousing by pushing me off my toboggan and jumping down the slope, following me on the belly of her pink snowsuit. This happened several times, neither of us exchanging a word, but our contact became more and more prolonged, as she deliberately, it seemed to me, continued to slide right on top of me, ‘falling’ and rolling, rubbing her little body against me. Round black eyes often locked on mine as she lay atop me; though she never smiled, neither did she appear afraid. And while I knew her as female, I couldn’t feel any ‘woman-parts’ during our play; yet, neither did I expect any, given her age.

I’m sure readers have guessed by now that this had been a set up to teach the girl male anatomy, as she had no siblings. This soon became clear to me when her parents invited me into their home for cocoa as it began to get dark. First, however, we had to remove our wet boots and snowsuits... and dry off after a hot bath.

Although reluctant at first, seeing that I didn’t know them, their friendliness and the obvious setup allayed my final reservations – not to mention the undeniable fact that the little black minx had wordlessly aroused me even through snowsuits and winter clothing. I made up my mind quickly when we entered the mud room and Tandy’s mom, a rather rotund white blonde – turned out the girl was adopted – bid us out of our soaked clothing and into the steamy bathroom, where she had the tub already filled with bubbles. Although I thought I was too old for bubble baths, now that Tandy had removed all but white panties and t-shirt, I could now see virtually all of her: tall-ish and skinny with medium-length black hair done in pigtails that mom quickly unbraided. So, I flung away my pride alongside my underwear, trying not to stare at the cute youngster while seeing her own open-mouthed gawk as I stepped into the near-scalding water. Proud that I could cause such a reaction, my semi-erection began swelling to a full hardon before submerging.

“Come on, Tandy – into the bath with you,” her mother bade.

The blonde helped nervous daughter out of remaining vestments, practically lifting her bodily into the tub. Tandy had no tits, not even suggestive swellings beneath tiny ebon nipples. Indeed, the girl was all arms and legs, but damned cute regardless; this was the first time I’d seen a naked other-than-white girl, and doubtless my attraction to the type solidified at the moment one leg raised, briefly displaying pink inside narrow, dark-lipped crease before lowering herself into the water, knees to chest. Intrigued at the unexpected contrast, I yearned for closer inspection, but knew to wait. For the girl’s part, huge dark eyes stayed on the spot were my cock had disappeared under the bubbles.

I don’t recall either of us having said much to one another, if anything. But trying to get her attention, I moved the foam around above my crotch, deliberately hoping to reveal glimpses of what she craved. Big eyes at last lifted to my face.

Grinning, I said, “Hi.”

“Say hi to J***, Tandy. She’s very shy,” Mrs. clarified unnecessarily.

“H... Hi... J***.” Gaze dropped, but only for an instant as it came up to the level of my crotch again. The girl began to swish her own little white-palmed hands through the bubbles, still pressing knobby knees to chest.

“I’ll leave you two, then,” her mother announced.

Tandy froze, catching her breath for a moment as she darted a glance at parent’s retreating form before the bathroom door closed and she looked back at me. I don’t know when I’ve seen a more nervous girl – but surely, she had been coached through this obviously planned situation? I knew my part, at least.

“It’s okay.” I reached for a thin dark arm. Despite my caution, she started.

“Sorry. I won’t hurt you. You know that, right?”

Gaze fell again, this time to the foamy surface just above flat dark chest. A tiny nod.

“You can touch me if you want.”

Head shook; thick half-braids of black hair trailed narrow shoulders.

I recall thinking she looked younger than ten or eleven, but I’m sure my Dad or someone told me her age. I wouldn’t have believed it otherwise...

“You’re... you’re so cute. Can I touch you?”

Hesitation before nod.

I trailed a hand over a shoulder, arm, cheek; stroked hair, finger-combing certain remnant tangles; poked flat little nose, scooped and smeared a dab of bubbles on it.

Hesitant giggle.

“I never saw a black girl before. I guess you’ve never seen a boy before?”

Head shook.

“Maybe I can wash you?”

Tentative nod.

“First you have to put your legs down.” I gently pushed thin knees down under the water inside mine; our mutual leg contact caused another start from the youngster; yet soon I had her relaxing under soapy hands and washcloth. I moved closer, letting her feet touch my dick under the warm water; at first she pulled away, but kept up a timid exploration with soles and toes.

 _Gawd, how erotic!_ I nearly came, but hoped for more, so held off.

I hate to disappoint readers with the truth, yet nothing else of note happened. I sensed the girl’s shyness and reluctance, so although I had us both stand and my hard dick waved practically in her face, she would not touch me anywhere else, even while seeming to enjoy my thorough cleansing of her thin, dark little body. Regardless, I did not explore too deeply before asking if her mother had already impressed upon her about how to wash ‘down there’.

“Your vulva,” I clarified. I felt her stiffen as I ran a washcloth-ed finger along her slit between tightly clenched legs. “Don’t worry – I won’t hurt you... But if you don’t want me to...” I removed the washcloth, contacting slippery tender lips resisting my probe.

Tandy’s little frame began to tremble, so I desisted, instead finishing up the rest of her, finally washing her hair. Tilting her head to keep shampoo out of her eyes, she kept them closed as I rinsed. The intense eroticism kept me fully stiff, the head of my cock trailing against shiny dark skin. Although I continued to advise her that touching me was more than okay, she only once briefly brushed the back of one hand against my prick, as if by accident.

Wiping excess water from ebon face, I leaned to place a soft kiss on flat little nose, suffused, parted lips. Again I thrilled at the contrast of interior pinkness as I teased with my tongue; but my curiosity about so-called ‘minority’ girls would unfortunately have to wait further assuagement.


	29. Sister Summers Pt 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> See _Only Sitter in Town Pts 1-22_ , _High School Sweethearts Pts 1 & 2_, and _Sister Summers Pts 1-5_ for setup. My last childhood summer with siblings and cousins.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TAGS: m/m/f/f/b+/g; incest; oral; mutual masturbation; all participants are fictional or of age to be involved in consensual sexual activity.

Before I arrive at my ‘last’ summer, I should give a little more background to our family practices. I don’t mean to imply that we were in any way abnormal; while I admit that being naked almost all the time and engaging in virtually uninhibited sexual experimentation is atypical, we were in any other way a regular family. Some of my cousins, however... let’s just say they were raised differently, since at least one of my mother’s three sisters followed their father’s religious upbringing, rather than their mother’s belief in a more unrestrained lifestyle. Regardless, those cousins moved to another country when we were all young, so we didn’t see them much anyway.

On the other hand, one of my mom’s twin middle sisters – she’s the eldest – lived close, and those cousins, two boys and a girl, loved to visit our farm, especially in the summer. I shouldn’t have to keep repeating that I don’t recall the exact order of events, but there it is again. In any case, I may have revealed how we moved there when I was about nine, and at first I hated it; I’d never had to do chores before, at least beyond making my bed and so on. There we had to chop and haul wood, water (before we got a generator and electric pump run by the generator), and myriad other tasks I’ve mentioned such as haying, feeding and chasing cows where they were(n’t) supposed to be, etc. Looking back, however, many people – myself now included – would consider it idyllic.

I’ve also let you know about our tiny private lake and the lakeshore we owned on another, plus the hundreds of acres we had available to explore and play. There, many of our games were typical of kids at the time (who had almost no TV, no electronics, cell phones, or the like). Summers outdoors we played Cowboys & Indians, went fishing and swimming, built forts, kicked, batted, or threw a ball around, and so on. Winters we similarly built snow forts, sledded, skated on our frozen lakes, and played indoor board games of which I should perhaps not mention the names but are still popular, like a certain real estate trading game; one where you pretended you were ‘sorry’ for screwing over your opponents; lots of card games; aforementioned Twister... And of course, hockey – all year round, tabletop and road. You get the picture. The only difference was that we often turned them into a means to be, or get, naked and/or be sexual. Not always; it’s uncomfortable to be naked in the snow for too long, and not all our games turned carnal, though more often than most kids’, I would venture.

In no particular order I will describe a few. Many younger readers will not be familiar with some, so bear with me as I go over their rules.

Besides likely familiar Tag and Hide & Seek, ‘Mother-May-I?’ required a leader whom the other players asked, from a short distance away, permission to take a certain number of ‘baby steps’, ‘giant steps’, etc.; the first to reach the leader won. Naturally the leader could be completely biased, but we tried to allow discussion and consensus... Our variation was to oblige the asker to remove an article of clothing, if wearing any, or do something sexual to another if participants were already nude, in order to grant an otherwise unreasonable request. These were normally very innocent, such as kissing, but became more daring as we got older and learned more about ‘real’ sex.

That last summer when I was about 16 and, I thought, beyond such childish games, I changed my mind when the above-mentioned set of younger cousins visited. They and my siblings ranged in age then from about two-ish to D, my eldest sister, 15, and female cousin, around 13. My toddler brother did not play with us, leaving the latter girls; our other two brothers, 12 and 10-ish; two male cousins, maybe 13 and 11; and my youngest sister, five. So, five boys, three girls.

I don’t recall exactly when we modified the rules for Mother-May-I?, but by that summer we’d refined them... I’ll tell you what I mean.

Mid-summer being already upon us, none of us had clothing except a few with shoes or thongs (flip-flops, you’ll recall). D usually initiated our games, but she and I invariably contested control of leadership and the rules. Our little sister – she’ll be ‘j**’, as her name starts with the same initial as mine – joined us for perhaps the first time. For some reason she liked wearing only panties, but since they were usually dirty, we got her out of them; this time as a condition for joining our game.

I appointed myself ‘Mother’, but let D mostly arbitrate the rules. Seven nude kids lined up in the shade of a big birch tree while I positioned myself against the wall of our woodshed. I appreciated the variety of naked flesh on display, from tiny, almost gender-neutral j**; through various sized boys with trace dark-to-light pubes and moderate-to-small dicks, two circumcised, two un-; to the older girls with readily discernible boobs and wisps of blonde crotch-hair. D was taller than Allie, though the latter retained some baby fat, making her tits look fuller, hips broader, cunt and nipples puffier. No boy was hard yet, but that would be remedied. We let j** go first; D helped her.

“Mother may I take two giant steps?”

“Yes, you may.”

The rules said you had to confirm the request before actually carrying it out; D reminded j**.

Gleefully, little j** practically broad-jumped instead of strode, bare feet splashing the dust.

Our younger cousin Frankie went next, also requesting two giant steps; denied, this invariably engendered arguments; denial justified by him being bigger than j**.

“Two strokes for C****, then,” D demanded, making him jack my brother next-in-age, who immediately grew a decent hardon through his wispy dark blonde pubes. Of course this was funny to all of us, and got the game going.

“I wanna, I wanna too!” j** yelled, stomping up and down in the dirt.

“You’re already winning,” I reasoned. “Wait your turn.”

Everyone else took their turns, this time coming around to Allie, whose requested baby step would still put her in first; therefore, D made her kiss j**, which naturally delighted the youngster even though she lost the lead.

When j** next demanded ‘forty-teen’ baby steps, we had to advise her there was no such thing, and not to be greedy; I told her she could have three, but D made her kiss Freddie’s – Frankie’s older brother – penis. She laughed, doing so with an exaggerated smacking sound and, ignoring his reaction, returning to her place to take her baby steps. Naturally, she stretched the baby steps greater-than-normal, so we had to correct her. Since she would have won otherwise, pouting took over until Frankie was obliged to kiss her vulva (remember, we used correct words – most of the time). Excitement replacing her sulk, j** splayed her narrow pink lips part, bending backwards and thrusting her little hips forward for her cousin’s ministrations.

“She smells of pee,” the dark-haired boy complained.

We let him take an extra step for his ‘sacrifice’.

To shorten things up, we let j** win, following a further few mild sexual acts, such as brothers tugging male cousins and D and Allie French kissing. All of this got us boys at least half-hard, which j** found hilarious, begging to feel them all. We allowed it, j** keenly observing differences between cut and uncut cocks, hair variances, size discrepancies. D explained, and although j** seemed to understand penis dimensions and pubes being (somewhat) related to age, I think the reasons for circumcision escaped her, yet satisfied the little girl’s curiosity, for now.

Our next game, ‘Go-Go-Stop!’, went a little further.


	30. Sister Summers Pt 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> See _Only Sitter in Town Pts 1-22_ , _High School Sweethearts Pts 1 & 2_, and _Sister Summers Pts 1-6_ for setup. My last childhood summer with cousins.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TAGS: Incest; oral; masturbation; ejaculation; m/m/f/f/b+/g; all participants are fictional or of age to be involved in consensual sexual activity.

‘Go-Go-Stop!’ set up similar to Mother-May-I?, except that contestants obeyed the leader, who had his/her back turned, players “go-go-go”-ing while leader uttered the words, but having to “stop!” when told to before the leader could whip his/her head around and catch anyone still moving. Players could go as fast as they wanted, but of course the quicker you moved the more likely you’d be off balance and unable to stop; for, not only did one have to cease walking or running, neither could one be caught stumbling, arm windmilling, and so on. I don’t have to mention arguments arose about what constituted ‘movement’ and whether a player was really busted, but we resolved those in our unique way.

A player who objected had to subject him/herself to an arbitrary order or be sent back to the start, which was the consequence of being caught anyway. As leader, I got to choose these penalties.

Naturally, j** being the youngest and unfamiliar with the rules, we had to cut her some slack. Even so, she became whiney and uncooperative, so I finally told her to leave the game.

“NooooooOOOOOO!” she squealed. “I wanna play!” Her filthy bare feet rose more dust as she stomped up and down.

“Then behave. Now you have to—”

“What’s going on?” Our mother, topless in green shorts and sandals, regarded us, arms akimbo, sweat upon her brow.

Nearly everyone began shouting at once, until she addressed me.

“Well,” I informed her, “j** is being a brat and disrupting our game.”

“No I’m no—!”

“Quiet, j**. I heard you from the other side of the house. If you want to play with the big kids, you’ll play by their rules. Understood?”

Head down, the little girl scuffed her feet in the dirt.

“Understood?”

“Yes, Mommy.”

“J***, I expect you to make sure no one gets out of hand.” She aimed a penetrative glance at each of us. “Remember your ages.”

“All right, Mom.”

“Yes, Auntie...”

Mom strode away, doubtless going back to endless laundry or cooking. At least she had Aunt Sarah’s help, while Uncle Larry helped my stepfather in the fields.

“Now, j**,” I resumed, “if you want to keep playing and not have to go back to the start...” I thought a second or two, recalling my mother’s admonition, especially about my littlest sister’s age. “Do you want to learn big girl stuff?”

“Sexy stuff?”

“Yes, sexy stuff. But you have to behave.”

“YAY!”

“All right then.” I admit I was at first going to make her do something to another player, but suddenly felt horny myself. “Mark your spot with a rock. Now, come over here and take hold of my penis. Can you make it grow?”

“’Rection!” j** yelled.

“Yes... _e_ -rection.”

“Arection!”

Chortling, everyone corrected the kid. She soon got it right – and, giggling, made me hard.

“Okay... Good job. Back to your spot.”

All boys were stiff by now, most, girls included, playing with themselves. j** kept probing her own cunny, prying narrow lips apart and bending awkwardly trying to peer up inside herself. We had to get her attention back on the game, but she was too distracted, fascinated by her own anatomy and surrounding dicks. Thus, we soon ended it, everyone funnelling into our favourite small outbuilding, once used for animal fodder storage but now mostly empty and our playhouse(one of them; I have a story or two about the others later). The wooden floors had worn mostly smooth through the many years even before we owned it, so we only had to keep it swept and cobweb, bird’s nest, packrat, etc. free.

We all sat cross-legged, my favourite position, as it opened up girls’ pussies delectably. Even so, during other-than-playtime, ours were taught to hide their cunnies with the heel of one foot in front – just like certain native tribes – yet often they didn’t or forgot. Regardless, none of those present were exactly shy; all made ready to give j** some lessons.

It strikes me that it always seems to be the most innocent-looking or -acting girls who prove the most... well... forward. I’d known my cousin Allie a little, but at a mere five years of age my sister j** turned out to be one of the most avid—

Errr... allow me to demonstrate.

I don’t believe j** had been involved in a lot of family ‘activity’ before then, as she seemed mostly ignorant of almost everything aside from basic anatomy and awareness of sex as a form of play for older people; yet, as far as I could tell – and learned later from D – she had never expressed much interest in sex or anatomy or gender. However, playing with the ‘big kids’ triggered something in the youngster; her inquisitiveness burgeoned like a Saturn V rocket lifting off.

Seating ourselves in the playhouse, our ad-hoc Comparative Anatomy class took off as well. As we all became focussed on one another’s parts, chatter tapered to virtually nothing – except for j**, who kept up a steady stream of commentary and questions, coming so fast none of us had time to answer before the next.

“P***, why your penis is so small? D***, why your vulva pink and Allie’s red? I want hairy vaginny too. When will I get hairy? Will mine be red like Frankie and Freddie or goldie like D***’s? Why your penises growing? I want boobies too! Allie’s vaginny is shiny – oooo! What’s that coming out?”

Scooting over for a closer look between our female cousin’s legs, D stopped her. “No, j**... Slow down. You can’t just go poking at someone’s privates. You know that.”

“But I wanna—”

“Sit down!”

“But—!”

“J******! Do you want to go inside? No? Then stop and listen. Now,” D continued as the youngster settled – relatively-speaking. “We’ve told you why boys’ penises are different sizes: When kids get older they get hair and they get bigger penises and vulvas—”

“And boobies!”

“Yes, j**. Breasts.”

“Tits!”

“Melons!”

“Tatas!”

“Shmeebs!”

The juvenile contributions continued briefly, D skewering us boys with her patented reproachful stare till they subsided and we looked away from hers and Allie’s. Went on, “But not all are the same, no matter how old they are. You’ve seen Mommy and Daddy and Auntie—”

“Auntie Sarah has gigantish boobies!” the little girl piped up.

We all stifled sniggers, not daring D’s rancour again so soon.

“Bress,” j** corrected herself, catching D’s stern glance.

“ _Breasts_. Yes... So, you see, they’re all different. Mine are bigger than Mommy’s already, and Allie’s are bigger than mine, but not her mom’s.”

Glancing down at her own flat chest, j** complained at her inadequacies.

“We told you, you aren’t old enough,” D advised. “I said—”

“When I be old ’nough?”

“No one knows for sure.”

“But I want—”

“J*******...! Do you want to stay?”

The comparisons had gotten me fully hard by now; checking around, my brothers and male cousins also sported decent wood, Freddie even rubbing his. In addition, Allie indeed appeared to be leaking creamy fluid into the dry wood under her ample ass whilst she touched ruddy freckled flesh here and there.

I got involved in the discourse. “Look at your nipples, j**.” Indeed, for her age, I hadn’t noticed their size and dark areolae before; doubtless her young body had begun to generate natural responses to the sexually charged atmosphere. “Feel them.”

“Ooo! That... that tickles! Ooo-OOO!” She began playing with them, obviously finding them all at once hypersensitive. They even appeared to grow a little more, if that were possible.

“It feels even better if someone else does it,” I offered.

“Okay! Uhh... Ooo-ooo-ooo-ooOOO _OOO!_ ”

I replaced fingers with lips, briefly nipping and eliciting the swells to nearly bee-stings. Complimenting my baby sister on their size for her age, I assured her they would soon start growing into ‘proper boobies’ (earning another sour look from D at my use of slang).

Lessons and demos continued, and although I know not all my littlest sister’s summer instruction took place on that very occasion, the rest of the visit blurs into a hazy film with gaps and splices.

In any case, at some point j** was invited to touch everyone’s nipples, including boys’, assessing for herself relative differences. Squeezing tits and feeling testes and dicks, we all stood in a circle around her – I think it was D’s idea – most of our crotches a little below eye level for the little girl, so she could look and touch and learn some more.

We explained why girls got wet – Allie foremost present compared to many women I’ve known – whereupon we had to dissuade her from experimenting with a cock inside her own little cunt, for now.

My dick proudly twitched as she let go after stroking it again; taking hold of another male sibling’s, other pudgy hand tugged Frankie; changed up to Freddie and our second brother’s in turn. The child also alternated running fingers along Allie’s and D’s pussies, inserting one just a little way in each, D guiding her while admonishing caution, including with her own, which she probed eagerly.

“I...” Freddie looked uncomfortably red in the face, ruddy complexion deepening.

“Oh!” D exclaimed. “Look out – Freddie’s going to ejac—!”

Freddie’s cock spurted against j**’s shoulder before D finished the word, shocking the child into speechlessness as she let go, staring from the small clear spots on her grimy skin to the boy’s twitching dick, and back. Glancing around for others’ reactions, I happened to notice Allie licking her lips and dipping into her slickness as D used an omnipresent towel to clean up j**; I suspected my pretty cousin’s disappointment over the cumshot’s disposition, and so decided to prolong the games.

First, D and I explained to j** what had happened to Freddie; the child had known about ejaculation before, but had obviously not seen it, much less worn it, and likely still didn’t really ‘get’ what actually happened, or the biological reason. Even so, I found her abrupt silence curious, albeit I sensed she felt no fear, just surprise and thoughtfulness.

“I think we all need to cum,” I announced, deflecting correction from D at my substitution of ‘vulgarities’ with the vernacular, by arguing that such stimulation deserved fulfilment for us all.

Allie appeared to agree; upon allowing D to tell j** that ‘cum’ was a nasty word for ‘ejaculate’, she suddenly joined j** in the centre of the circle on her knees, reaching for an erect cock in each hand and beginning to jerk them. One of my brothers instantly shot a small jet that the curly redhead aimed at her full tits. Freddie hadn’t subsided at all, and D, feigning reluctance, joined the other two girls, grabbing hold of a pair of cocks for herself. Little j** still appeared dazed, simply watching now, turning slowly in place while cocks spurted in girls’ hands, some merely spilling over, though mine – I don’t mind saying – splattered freckled pink flesh and got rubbed into tits and rosy nips. Allie even – to my mild surprise – pushed her mouth onto my prick as it gave up the dregs of its current load. She even moaned, ramping the suction as if to Hoover my whole meatstick down her throat. I nearly collapsed, knees buckling, but managed to stay upright – in both senses.

Frankie – or maybe Freddie – laughed. “She’ll want you to lick her out, now!”

I had no objections, and so demonstrated to a once-more fascinated j** how to make a girl cum with one’s tongue and fingers. Towels and empty grain sacks made for a reasonably comfortable platform for me to eat Allie’s fluffy red-blonde cunt till she returned the favour of a liquid shower, this time in my mouth. As I savoured the salty warmth, j** kept up questions that D did her best to respond to while Freddie and Frankie took turns eating her out and sucking her puffy dark nipples.

“Is that pee?”

“No < _gasp_ >!”

“What is it?”

“Uhhh...”

“I wanna turn!”

“ _Uhhh...!_ You have to... wai-AIT!”

My brothers sat by and wanked one another, doubtless each cumming at least once more as I at last spread little j** in place of Allie. The girl’s squeaks and giggles continued till I spat on her cunt and slicked a finger with Allie’s juices, probing the tip into her tight hole. Gasping and going rigid, I relaxed the child, continuing to stroke and probe, thumbing her tiny clit and eliciting another series of “ooo-OOO- _OOO!_ ”s while Allie suckled her nips. As she came, I bent to shove my tongue into her pee-smelly cunny, Allie and I both having to hold her down.

By now our playhouse trembled with moans, grunts, drumming heels and fists, each of us achieving several well-deserved climaxes before we heard Mom giving her dinner yodel. She made us all wash first.


	31. Sister Summers Pt 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> See _Only Sitter in Town Pts 1-22_ , _High School Sweethearts Pts 1 & 2_, and _Sister Summers Pts 1-7_ for setup. The sun sets on my last childhood summer with cousins.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TAGS: Nudism; incest; oral; masturbation; m/g; all participants are fictional or of age to be involved in consensual sexual activity.

Once j** discovered that panties got in the way of a lot of pleasure, she kept them off most of the time. She also wouldn’t leave her nipples alone, rubbing and scratching them nearly raw till Mom laid down the law; leave them alone or wear clothing.

That day, she wanted more ‘lickies’ from me, so I took her to the bath before supper, with Mom’s blessing – and another caution about how far to go. I gave j** the lecture Mom had given D and I at a bit beyond her age, about her body being hers; but at the time she seemed to pay no attention, concentration vacillating to various aspects of sexuality, physiology, and anatomy.

Perhaps you gathered that j** never stopped talking, and so we learned early that having to respond to all her commentary/questions was neither possible or necessary; yet we could tell when she had serious enquiries: She became quiet and one could almost see her young mind working, upon which she acquired a rather serious tone. Like now, as I sat almost as I used to with D, albeit the youngster scooted as close between my legs as possible, little knees pressed to chin, tiny feet in my crotch as she used the washcloth randomly on both of us.

“J***, does your penis go in my vulva?” The epitome of a loaded question...

“Well, it _could_ , j**,” I answered, “but you’re too small.”

“Or you’re too BIG!”

I didn’t think my prick could grow any further, but when it twitched against my sister’s little feet she giggled and tried to capture it between them.

“I wish I was BIGGER!”

“Well, you will be.”

“Then can you put you penis in my vulva?”

“Maybe, j**.” I tried instructing her on the difference between ‘vulva’ and ‘vagina’, explaining that the former was penetrated on the way to the latter. It went over her head, so I backtracked to her question: “When you’re older you’ll understand there are lots of reasons not to do it—”

“’Cause we make babies?”

“Well, there’s that... But not till you’re older.”

“And it hurts?”

“It can, but it shouldn’t. At least not for long. Did Mommy or D*** tell you about your hymen?”

“Virgity!”

“Virginity, yes. It often hurts a girl when her hymen is broken, and there can even be blood.”

“Like menestation?”

The washcloth sank somewhere beneath the bubbles, j**’s arms encircling her knees to wrap my cock in both little hands.

“Uhhh... m-menstruation, yes. I m-mean, no – it’s not the same.” Suddenly I wished for my other sister. Or mother.

Small children’s attention spans being what they were, j** abruptly changed subjects: “Why Allie put her mouth on your penis?”

“Err... well, because some girls and boys like to do that – and most boys like it done to them.”

Poking inquisitively from a nest of bubbles, j** manipulated the object in question from base to purple head, wiping suds and cupping handfuls from the surface to dump and rub in further.

“I wan’ put my mouth on it.”

“Ummm... all right. But you might not like the soap... NNnnnN!”

My littlest sister proved an expert cocksucker from a very early age. With virtually no example, she seemed to know what to do – at least from my perspective. The draw she instinctively perpetrated on my member – in contrast to the number of girls I’ve had to instruct regarding _blow_ job not being literal – felt exquisite from the very first. Even the warning I managed to give before I came seemed superfluous, as j** gleefully jacked and licked and even swallowed as I burst into her little mouth. She had already even acquired natural sound effects: “MMMmmmMMMmmmMMM!” articulated between chortles. And she seemed to have forgotten all about ‘lickies’ – at least for the time being.

We often went skinny-dipping the rest of the summer, and were otherwise outside naked during playtime even in moderate rain, and so again the order of events blur. Regardless, j** got her lickies, mostly at night, albeit she remained obsessed over giving head, rather than receiving, for example diving under me, brothers, cousins, and attacking a dick with her mouth underwater. Or, often making a nuisance of herself, interrupting whatever we might be doing to grab a prick and stuff her face onto it.

I should further mention that the child was blessed with – or suffered from, if that’s your opinion – precocious puberty (look it up if you want). By the time she was ten she had developed breasts that would not have looked out of place on a 16-year-old, and had started her period, so it boded well that she received complete information starting that summer; and access to condoms and birth control in general not much later. She also soon developed the intellectual capacity to understand it all, even the emotional facility. The rest awaited a farther future (as did her higher education, I’m proud to say, as a premier psychologist and family counsellor).

Prior to that we had to school her, as it were, on the inappropriateness of certain behaviours where she would start that autumn. Regardless, she got into so much trouble during those years through early twenties that I could use to fill a novel.

Yet the remainder of that summer passed as most did, our antics following a pattern that kept me perma-hard, with a sister, cousin, neighbour, or even step-niece either on my cock, under my tongue, or in my sights. Oh... If I haven’t informed you that my stepfather had three daughters, all grown and two with children of their own before we met, I do so now. More about the neighbours in a bit.

My eldest stepsister had an adopted son who had difficulties (I think he had Fetal Alcohol Syndrome or something), and so we seldom saw him after the age of six-ish, as he was in hospitals, group homes, jail, etc. On the other hand, their natural daughter, Lila, developed from a typical skinny tomboyish kid to a slim, gorgeous brunette by the time she hit about 14. My brother C**** and I competed for her attention, me finally winning shortly after grad when I got a car – a Plymouth Horizon TC3, which resembled a toy Firebird complete with the namesake on the hood. Not too special, although at the time it sufficed to impress a teenage girl... But I get ahead of myself again.

That summer Lila would have been about ten or eleven; never having been a ‘girly-girl’ to play with D or j**, she followed one or more of us boys around – depending, I suppose, on whom deigned to pay her the most attention moment-to-moment. She also had a typical curiosity; I recall my mother telling me once that, while assisting in changing my baby brother’s diaper a couple of years prior, Lila ‘couldn’t help’ repeatedly touching his little prick, being over-generous and too attentive with the baby powder or lotion, etc.

Now, you know how I believe that girls have a natural ability to flirt; that summer Lila developed hers to the full, and she satisfied much more of her inquisitiveness. Even though her young body came up well short of ‘full’, my own insatiable wonder about female anatomy doubtless exuded ‘vibes’ or pheromones or whatever, that the youngster instinctively picked up – or else I wasn’t as subtle about displaying my interest as I thought.

Regardless, one day I noticed that Lila wasn’t attached to me, so I immediately set off to bust her with my brother C. Nude as usual though it had rained lightly most of the day, I suspected I’d find them indoors, likely in our playhouse. Since that wasn’t the case, nor were they in the closer haybarn, I marched off down the damp track through our hayfield to an abandoned house that we also played in occasionally, although it mostly got used as a haybarn, generally being empty by spring and filled again by summer’s end. On the way we had another small old house complete with a saggy mattress on a rusty bedspring, plus a wood stove, but it was occupied by a couple doing some work for us – logging, I believe. Passing that, I saw the wife outside hanging laundry; though well aware of our nudist lifestyle, they did not partake, yet I thought I had noted her more than once trying to be nonchalant about it all as she watched us.

My confidence bordering upon hubris at the time, I swerved to stand in front of her, separated by a short porch wall over which she stretched for the clothesline, baring flat tummy and ‘outie’ belly button just above the tight waistband of pink shorts. Blue-striped blouse pulled tight across full, braless breasts, which I gazed above into deep black eyes framed in attractive, sweat-sheened native features, long dark hair tied back in a ponytail. Perhaps mid-twenties... _Just my type..._

“Hi, Alma,” I greeted, smugly noting shining glance pull from my crotch back to her task. “Have you seen C****, or Lila?”

“Yeah...” throaty voice purred. “They went up the r-road... a while ago.”

“Far out. See ya!”

“I’m... Ahh... J***, I’m hot... I m-mean, I was about to make some Koolaid – want some?”

Sorely tempted, I had to find Lila first, so declined. Grinned. “Maybe later. I’ll be back.”

“Su-Sure... I’ll—It’ll be ready.”

I noted the slip, turned and sauntered away, certain I could feel those chips of ebony fastened to my bare ass.

The haybarn-house being far too dirty and dilapidated to be very comfortable, not to mention my mom’s and stepfather’s mores being different, I didn’t expect to find C and Lila in a _really_ compromising position. Indeed, my hopes at being the one to eventually deflower her appeared as intact as her hymen, since, creeping up and spying through an empty window, I saw them merely kissing and tentatively groping on an opposite sill (no glass remained in the old log house, nor screens, shutters, etc.). I watched a while, stroking my hardening cock, but they appeared unlikely to go farther.

“HA!” I burst in upon them.

Lila shrieked and my brother yelled, both nearly spilling through the aperture into the weeds and thistles outside.

“What are you two up to?”

Of course they denied everything, despite my calling, “Bullshit!” and haranguing them all the way to Alma’s. Torn between abandoning them to their own stratagems and my plans for our neighbour, I was spared the decision.

“H-Hi, kids,” the woman hailed us. “Want to come in for some Koolaid?”

 _Damn!_ I thought. _Then again..._

“Sure!” I didn’t care if the other two followed.

They did.


	32. Sister Summers Pt 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> See _Only Sitter in Town Pts 1-22_ , _High School Sweethearts Pts 1 & 2_, and _Sister Summers Pts 1-8_ for setup. My last childhood summer with cousins ends in a full-grown encounter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TAGS: Voyeurism; exhibitionism; nudism; incest; oral; masturbation; full sex; m/g; m/b/g; m/F; all participants are fictional or of age to be involved in consensual sexual activity.

Inside the one-room place, I noted how Alma had made it a real home, with curtains and everything – not to mention more furniture, including table and chairs at which we sat: two nude kids and a naked teen boy upon their towels, plus a partially clothed, striking woman on the made-up bed (was it a different one?) in the corner. The conversation dragged as we all drank thirstily; strawberry Koolaid, not my fave, but okay. Despite previous rain, inside it felt like the woodstove’s live firebox; though unlit, neither did we have fans, much less air conditioning; no electricity, remember, as even our generator wasn’t hooked up here.

In spite of that I very much appreciated the way sweat soaked Alma’s shirt. She’d changed to a blue halter-top, leaving bare midriff and prominent nipples thrusting against the thin material such that I could see the outline of broad areolae as well.

“Sure is hot in here,” I observed. “We should take the chairs out to the porch.”

It didn’t help much, though I got to watch Alma’s tight ass sway in her shorts, bare feet padding on the floorboards.

“How can you stand clothes?” Lila chirped, bless her.

“Ahh... I’m not... not wearing much already,” Alma murmured.

“No one would care if you took them off,” Lila continued. I wanted to kiss her more than ever.

Alma merely chuckled.

“We should go down to the creek,” I further suggested.

It wasn’t far, and soon we all briefly splashed about, save the woman, who swirled sexy tapered feet in the slow, chill current, watching us surreptitiously as I scoped long, bronzed legs, speculating on what hid beneath short—

Though remaining in sight, C and Lila went off a bit downstream. Again I felt torn between wanting to keep close to them as well as Alma; the woman won, for now. What took place presaged another incident a few years later, after I joined the Canadian Armed Forces and—

Yes, yes... On with the present.

Emerging from the very shallow pool, I wiped freezing water and blonde hair away from face, flanks and legs just to draw her attention to them. I knew my cock had shrunk due to the chill of the mountain stream, but concentrating on Alma’s slender figure sparked it.

“Whoa,” I commented, gasping a little as I sat opposite her on the rocky bank. “That’ll cool ya off. Why don’t you go in all the way?”

Throaty laugh tickled my innards. “Too cold for me. I’m fine here.”

“You like it here?” I meant the ranch in general, but she misunderstood.

“Sure. I’m cooling off just fine.”

I doubted that, seeing the sweat spreading even in the shade of birch, poplar, cottonwood. Tried again. “Are you bored? With David gone all day, I mean? We could play cards or...”

“Uhh... not really. Lots to do, with no water and electricity. You know... chopping wood and all that.”

I grimaced. “Yeah.” Wiped the expression for a solicitous one. “Maybe I could help you with that.”

“Uhh... well, I haven’t filled the water buckets yet...”

“I’ll fill you for—I mean, I’ll fill them for you.”

_Titter..._

I rose, fetching two galvanised pails from the porch, returned to dip them brim-full in the pool where Alma continued to watch me. I don’t know if I’ve mentioned that my physique is nothing special; at 16-ish I hadn’t quite reached my full height of just under 6ft and maybe weighed 140lb[1]; blonde wavy hair and hazel-eyed, I wasn’t muscular or athletic, but I guess I had – have – _something..._

Anyway, in two or three trips I’d filled Alma’s water buckets in the house: two old 5gal[2] hydraulic fluid pails that we now know aren’t ‘food grade’. Turning to replace the metal ones back on the porch, I nearly bumped into the woman’s prominent tits. I think that was the intent, as she took a step nearer, my dick welcoming her proximity. The empty buckets clattered to the floor, and I barely had time to wonder if C and Lila would hear before Alma’s tongue leapt down my throat, accompanied by one hot hand around my prick, the other pressed to near-hairless chest as she backed me onto the bed. Falling atop me, my now-empty hands whipped off her top and those nice boobs sprang out; I noted how dark nips pointed outwards a little instead of straight ahead. _MMmmm... Interesting..._ As if to adjust them, I grabbed and kneaded, pinched and flicked.

A moan escaped her while trailing wetly down my stomach to crotch; cramming my cock down her throat, I grunted, nearly cumming on the instant, the abrupt deepthroat sensation almost overwhelming prior to my regaining some control and threading fingers through elusive dark locks. Rising to undo the rest of her ponytail, she quickly stripped off shorts as well, revealing no panties and an extensive bush I couldn’t wait to dive into.

Yet Alma had other ideas – needs – wasting no time impaling her tight wetness on my shaft and commencing a ride that lasted seemingly seconds before she shuddered and jerked, moaning, only to start again at a slightly more leisurely pace. I gathered the poor woman hadn’t been properly fucked for I-don’t-know-how-long, but that wasn’t my concern. Unless her husband came home early, or the kids decided to drop back in.

I couldn’t believe I was hoping C and Lila were too busy to return, because when Alma grappled me atop her, growling, “Fuck me!” I had no choice but to comply. My cock somehow stayed buried in her glowing cunt, squeezing me as if to coax my cum into her vitals by vaginal suction alone. Not that I would have objected, but I had orders...

Managing a decent length of time in compliance, I could no longer hold back; pulling out, I aimed spurts into her lovely bush and slammed my thruster back in before she’d finished grunting and massaging it through black pubes, finger-mixing with her own juices seeping from open ruddy lips just visible through the forest. This time when we both came, I’m not certain that, across almost 1000 acres, every creature with a moderate aural sense and animal intelligence knew what we’d just done.

Certainly my brother and Lila did, as they were suddenly standing in the open doorway, a combination of flushed surprise and uncertainty that I would have taken more note of, had I not been in bed with a married woman, suddenly worrying that Lila might be mad at me. I know I’ve explained that jealousy was an emotion our family tried to banish, but...

Anyway, Alma scrambled for sheets or clothing and I demanded something like, “Do you mind?” in hopes of preserving some of our neighbour’s dignity as I hustled the pair out.

About to ask what _they’d_ been up to again, the girl queried first, “You m-made love to her?”

“Ummm... yeah, I guess.” I’m not sure why I dissembled – okay, I am sure. I looked into sad brown eyes, ran a glance over very long black tresses plastered wetly to slim ripening body that triggered a lump in my throat.

“Sounded more like fucking to me,” C opined. Even at 12-ish his understated sense of humour – not quite as sharp (some say ‘mean’) as mine – already manifested.

“So what. It’s not like I ra—like I forced her or anything.”

“Nope, didn’t sound like it.”

“Are you guys still horny?” I wasn’t sure what Lila meant by ‘still’ regarding my brother, but I could guess.

“What do you mean?”

“Well, you both—” Blushing, I think she realised what she was about to admit.

I grinned. “Always. Why?”

“C’mon, Lee,” C muttered. “Let’s go.”

I sighed. It would be a couple more years before I got to fuck Lila. But at least I found her still a virgin.

 

[1]1.8m; 57kg

[2] 20L


	33. French Kisses Pt 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> See _Only Sitter in Town Pts 1-21_ , _High School Sweethearts Pts 1 & 2_, and _Sister Summers Pts 1-9_ for setup. I go on a high school trip to France with a bunch of not-schoolmates.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TAGS: Voyeurism; playfighting; mild frightening; no sex; all participants are fictional or of age to be involved in consensual sexual activity.

Virgins were to be found in profusion the following spring when I went to France with 16 girls and only three other guys. Since it happened that two of the latter were gay and the other was very tall though geeky, I made out like the proverbial bandit. Almost literally.

The trip there turned out uneventful, primarily seeing that our group blended students from other schools in towns up to 90 minutes away, and I was the only one from mine. So, I didn’t know anyone; but that would soon change. The most notable thing would be our uniforms: girls in blue tartan pleated medi-skirt, white blouse and stockings, blue blazer, red tie, flat-heeled black shoes; boys wore blue slacks, otherwise the same. Since we didn’t normally wear school uniforms, the eroticism turned up several notches, even though I at first felt stupid.

Due to jet lag, we all fell asleep on the way from _l’Aeroport Charles de Gaulle_ near Paris to our hostel outside Amboise in the Loire Valley. I’m pretty sure I was the last one awake, trying to listen to our guide, but whatever. I think we spent ten days total over Easter in France, but can’t remember the exact split between Amboise and Paris; call it 50-50. In any case, Amboise was where I started getting to know my companions, beginning with Bonnie.

Quite plain though pleasant at 16 – our group consisted of Grades 9-12, so ages 14 to 18 – Bonnie proved the most aggressive of the lot, since she glommed onto me first. Mousey brown hair and glasses topped ill-fitting blue blazer that turned out to hide a tasty body, packed into a small frame. All this to be discovered, however.

Our first night in Amboise – we stayed in the _Lycée Leonard de Vinci_ , a boarding school – we got to roam the streets _sans_ chaperones (two teachers who accompanied us from the other school, one man and one woman). Bonnie and I went on a self-guided tour, followed by a gaggle of at least six uniformed girls. As we walked hand-in-hand down a darkened street, suddenly three or four older boys burst from the shadows behind us – although I didn’t realise this until the pack of screaming females rushed upon us, most grabbing me and trying to hide in my pockets. Aged late teens or early twenties, if the guys had meant us harm there’d be no way I’d be doing any Don Quixote rescue of a passel of Dulcineas; all of us together could maybe have fought them off, but luckily they proved harmless.

“ _Ah, les jeunes filles!_ ” they exclaimed, asking us where we were from, to which I pointed out the Canadian maple leaf patches on our blazers that we were obliged to wear (since we were told – sorry, USA! – that Canadians would be treated better than if the French thought we were Americans). The youths assailed us with a lot of other talk I honestly didn’t understand, though I feigned to, also pretending to tell them to ‘Fuck off and leave us alone,’ just to impress the girls (albeit of course I wouldn’t have dared even if I’d known the real French words!).

Our walking night tour abruptly cut short, Bonnie clung whilst we cut through alleys and even a field, at last following a high chain link fence along a low hill. Our entourage had emerged from my pockets albeit kept almost as close, and the guys thankfully soon left us alone. Even so, we were all shaken up, myself included, though I would never have admitted it; girls were counting on me to be macho and protect them!

In the darkling field I somehow knew backed the lycée, the girls nervously protested that I was getting them lost. Honestly, I’m not sure how I found my way in a totally unfamiliar city at night, but I did; we shortly arrived back at the school – and boy, were they grateful!

Not that their appreciation showed right away, but later...

I chastely kissed Bonnie goodnight; her hug seemed a bit intense, and she shook a little.

Later, Paul and Gord, the two gay guys (I didn’t know that right away, of course), decided to gang up on me, including my roommate Skye, the geeky boy I thought I’d managed to befriend already. All three pounced on me as we readied for bed, grabbing me and yanking my gonch down. Though I pretended to struggle and protest, when they managed to get them off and reveal my half-mast dick, our room went silent. I merely laid there on the floor, staring one to the other.

“Now what?” I demanded.

Nervous laughter.

I suppose they expected me to be embarrassed, but I think I managed to embarrass them – and perhaps turn on Gord and Paul. Whatever the case, those two left to their own room, and me and Skye went to bed. Separately.

The next few days we spent touring castles, including Chenonceau, Tours, Blois, Chaumont, Chambord, d’Azay-le-Rideau, Langeais, Chinon – where Jeanne d’Arc met the Dauphin – plus da Vinci’s former home in the city. We attended an Easter service at Chartres Cathedral ( _Notre Dame de Chartres_ , which I think is nicer than the one in Paris); I’ve never been religious, but it still felt moving; the stained glass, sculptures, frescoes... even the incomprehensible Latin liturgy.

I climbed the inside of a tower, teetering across the green slate roof to the other because of construction or repairs blocking the normal indoor connection. I’m sure this wasn’t allowed – the slippery tiles a straight ride down to a sudden stop on the church grounds – but whatever; young & dumb & full of....

I spent most of my pocket money on Kodak 110 camera film cartridges, much more on developing later. (In these days of digital photography and camera phones, go ahead and laugh; state-of-the-art then, upgraded from larger 126 format.) One of my spent flashcubes I leg go from the top of Chartres, losing sight as it approached a sidewalk and pedestrians; not sure where (who) it hit.

I still have all my photos, in addition to commercial slides I also bought there, yet me and Skye managed to waste a few precious bucks – francs – on fireworks (illegal in Canada, for 16-year-olds), a switchblade (also illegal in Canada for any age), as well as a gorilla mask. The usefulness of this latter prop comes up in a bit.

Time now to tell you that the boarding school was essentially closed for the Easter break but partially rented out to our group; although I’m not sure as to the norm, we had a wing each – girls and boys – of a single floor. Yet I assume a floor typically houses only one gender, since all wings per floor – _étage_ , perhaps three total – share a bathroom/shower, through which the other wings (three or four in all, I think) could be accessed. I don’t know if France has or had a system like the coed Israeli kibbutz, but... In this case a grievous oversight for chaperoning coed teens with raging hormones, but I hardly intend to lodge a retroactive complaint.

Our discovery of this happenstance occurred immediately, when we were told to stay out of the washrooms as it was the girls’ turn for showers. This couldn’t _possibly_ intrigue heterosexual teen males, and so I complied. Mostly.

Fortunately, our chaperones were very cool; though not exactly ‘permissive’, supervision of their charges was, looking back as an adult, quite lax. Happily so, seeing that we soon got away with ditching supposedly mandatory French classes (we had to be enrolled in regular high school French as a prerequisite for the trip), and ended up going unchaperoned, anywhere virtually any time, with no curfews or rules that I can recall. We even rode the subway – _le Metro_ – all over Paris: to flea markets, cafés, the Arc de Triomphe, Eiffel Tower, and so on. Doubtless this would NEVER happen these days for under-18s, but such were my innocent ’70s...

Back to the Lycée Leonard de Vinci.

They probably shouldn’t have told us to stay out of the showers during such-and-such time, because it told us exactly when the girls would be there. You know... _naked!_ (Think _Porky’s_!) It didn’t cross my mind that the opposite would also be true...

As you may have guessed, ‘potty times’ couldn’t be scheduled, so there developed for the opposite sex an ad hoc guard system where a phalanx of girls arrayed themselves across our entrance whist their team used the facilities. Since there were no cubicles, just rows of toilets opposite sinks and mirrors, spectatorship could not be helped otherwise. The facilities were meant to serve probably 50 or 60-plus at a time, so it was possible to enter on one side of the middle supporting wall (covered in mirrors) whilst not being aware of anyone on the other side. Theoretically.

Pervert that I am, I liked to take the occasional unguided tour, both to see if I might offer a show and to further the possibility of seeing something myself. Successful on one of our first nights, I surprised a girl – chubby Maddie, I think, one of the younger ones – who shrieked very agreeably, trying to leap up off the toilet and run out while pulling up white panties. (From this incident, doubtless arose their guard system.) Stumbling, the carrot-top gave me a spectacular view of a broad ass and narrow shiny cleft as I apologised and offered my help. Still squeaking, she declined, appearing to skin her knees on the cold tiles as she scrambled away. Chuckling, I didn’t think of how I’d get paid back...


	34. French Kisses Pt 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> See _Only Sitter in Town Pts 1-21_ , _High School Sweethearts Pts 1 & 2_, _Sister Summers Pts 1-9_ , and _French Kisses Pt 1_ for setup. My French trip continues; I start to count virgins.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TAGS: Voyeurism; striptease; playfighting; mild coercion; blowjob; facial; m/f/f/F; m/F; all participants are fictional or of age to be involved in consensual sexual activity.

I believe we had a two-hour time frame allotted for showers, so me and Skye usually accompanied one another. (We hardly ever saw the other two guys anyway, although I can now admit how the empty place felt a bit spooky to wander alone all the time.) I couldn’t help checking the questionable endowments of my geeky roomie: Though well over 6ft[1], he stooped, was round-shouldered, and generally out-of-proportion: short legs, big feet, long torso and neck; even his dick looked silly, a tiny beakless bird poking from its rough dark nest. Mine, on the other hand, got semi-hard as usual while I soaped and flaunted it, just short of jacking off in front of him. Yet my boldness scared him off I suppose, as Skye abruptly left, wrapping a towel around himself and making toward the sink area.

I wasn’t finished, though; felt like blowing a load—

Suddenly a masculine yell and excited female screams caused me to drop my soap – luckily alone (thinking of the non-PC joke about not bending over in the shower with a bunch of guys, lest any be gay and tried to cornhole you). But as I bent to retrieve it, fully a dozen (clothed) screeching girls ran in, laughing and shouting, “Towel raid!” Nearly all stopped short, squeals changing pitch as they caught sight of me standing there in the steamy tiled room, starkers and dripping under the spray, cock saluting them. Most instantly fled, shrieking, leaving only Bonnie, Kaye, and Siobhan, standing in uniforms mostly intact save blazer.

To this day I don’t know what the rest expected, especially once they stripped Skye...

The latter ( _shiv-ON_ ), a grad this year, looked like the ’80s porn star: tall; full curves; wavy auburn pre-Farrah Fawcett-style hair; glowing brown _fuck-me!_ eyes; pouting red-rouged lips; silver hoop earrings. I’ve described Bonnie, except that now her eyes stared as if through the bottoms of Coke bottles, mouth forming an O as she gaped at my crotch. Kaye, on the other hand... Well, we unkindly nicknamed the youngest of our group ‘Chipmunk’, due to an unfortunate overbite. Thin but kind of cute anyway, she had short blonde hair and pale blue eyes that now resembled china saucers.

I expected Bonnie to act first, either chasing the other two out, dragging them away, or throwing me a towel. _Something..._ Instead, Siobhan sashayed over in medi-skirt and half-unbuttoned blouse, loosened tie askew, standing directly in front of me and risking the spray to hang a fuzzy green towel from one curled finger. Though glowing russet eyes never left mine, the scarlet smirk told me her thoughts rested lower. Which prompted my cock to rise a fraction and twitch, eliciting stereo feminine gasps from the archway.

“Uhh... that’s not mine.” Indubitably the wench had swiped it off Skye.

I suspect that my self-appointed girlfriend felt like she’d either have to act or lose me to an older girl; so began the competition.

Giggling, Bonnie asked if I could do that again.

“Do what?” I accepted Skye’s towel from Siobhan, leaving it to dangle a while before slowly moving it toward my chest and hiding the object of their focus but for conspicuous tent.

“Make it dance.” Bonnie had approached, almost hip-checking the bigger girl aside in order to put forward her ‘claim’.

I made my dick wobble a bit under the towel.

_Giggle._

“You know,” I ventured, “it ‘dances’ a lot better when it has something to look at. Something more, I mean.”

Siobhan’s eyes hadn’t relinquished mine; didn’t waver as she threw red tie over a shoulder, unbuttoned the rest of her blouse. White bra peeked: lacy, racy one rather than ‘granny’ bra; push-up cups did their jobs.

“Heheh... Nice!” I moved the towel, waggling my dick a little more.

The older girl licked reddened lips; a couple of fingers crept into the gap of her top, over a substantial, half-covered breast.

I turned the water off, though my mouth had gone dry; swayed with my terry prop, hiding and revealing, trying to tease.

“ _Hmmph!_ ” Bonnie, arms akimbo, glared from me to Siobhan; I saw the conflict race across ruddy freckled features as she decided between fight or flight. Now that the spout above ceased dripping, Chipmunk had me surrounded; soon, I hoped beyond hope that I wouldn’t know where to look.

Alas, only the other two girls began a striptease, alternating to dare a bit more skin until both stood in naught but bra, panties, stockings, shoes. Unfortunately, Bonnie surrendered when Siobhan dropped her brassiere. Snatching a dropped article or two of clothing from damp floor, we heard my now ex-girlfriend stamp all the way down the hall, door-slam reverberating through the mostly deserted building. I didn’t talk to her again till our return flight, but hadn’t much time to think of her, then or later, since Siobhan started querying and then giving orders to Chipmunk whilst I ogled proud bare tits.

“You just going to stand there gawking?”

“What?” we both said in unison.

I turned. Poor Chipmunk now resembled a bucktoothed, mesmerised meerkat as she also regarded Siobhan’s tits. Light blue eyes nearly popping, she lifted them to elder’s questioning gaze.

“Strip or split,” Siobhan commanded the skinny blonde.

“Wh-What?”

“You heard me, Chipmunk.”

I thought it rather mean of the older girl to use the younger’s new nick to her face, but to my surprise, it worked.

Youthful Kaye shyly stripped to bra and panties; I complimented her on very decent boobs – teacup-shaped B-tits, I’d say, if they weren’t padded. _Yes, damn cute..._ I could have wrapped both hands round narrow waist to draw her toward me and—

That sultry voice again. “Hummm... Not bad, for a little girl. But this is what big girls do.”

I gasped at cold hands grabbing my wet ass and twisting me away from the blonde; swallowed my breath as a wetter, hotter mouth enveloped my fully stiffened cock. Siobhan had piled her clothes in puddles on tile floor to go down on me on bare knees; now made little humming noises as she sucked and licked, hands-free. Kaye came round for a better view; yet, once more I couldn’t take my eyes from Siobhan’s as she bounced the head of my dick off her tongue, swatting it this way and that, letting its hardness smack her face; flicked and slithered tip around swollen head; ran part-closed lips up and down the shaft; suckled balls; engulfed me once more. Though she only took about half of it, this rates as one of my all-time memorable blowjobs. Not least because Kaye got an eyeful and education, which she would later put to fair use.

For now, jets of cum arced over the brunette’s reaching tongue-tip to skip off sharp nose, cheek, forehead, dangle from an earring, splatter crimped brown tresses. “Fuck,” she muttered without rancour as she released me to wipe face and then fingers on soggy, crumpled clothing. “Now I have to wash my hair again. Chipmunk, you’re doing my laundry. J***, gimme your towel.” 

[1] 1.9m


	35. French Kisses Pt 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> See _Only Sitter in Town Pts 1-21_ , _High School Sweethearts Pts 1 & 2_, _Sister Summers Pts 1-9_ , and _French Kisses Pts 1 & 2_ for setup. My French trip continues; war is declared.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TAGS: Voyeurism; exhibitionism; play-fighting; mild frightening; oral; masturbation; cumshot; full sex; m/f/F; all participants are fictional or of age to be involved in consensual sexual activity.

I attended Siobhan whilst Kaye left under orders to fetch the older girl’s shampoo, the latter stripping completely as I turned on the water again. Obligingly, I helped her soap up, hands exploring the statuesque brunette’s fully developed body, massaging flanks, flat stomach, breasts; hard nipples swelled to my attentions as she purred and her own wet, surprisingly cool hands roved over my sides, thighs, butt. Maddeningly, she avoided my cock, even though it prodded her water-slick ass-cleft; leaned back against me, sodden head on my shoulder, letting me ‘wash’ her. Turning her and squatting rather than kneeling on hard tile to knead hips and round ass, I pressed my nose into sparsely furred cleft; darted tongue about, eliciting little moans ere Chipmunk returned.

Fully clothed once again, though rumpled, the youth nervously handed over the shampoo bottle: _Gee, Your Hair Smells Terrific!_ (Honest; that was a real brand!)

I took it, practised hands lathering the brunette’s thick tresses. (It really did smell nice: flowery, as I recall.) Kaye looked on, trembling, pale blues still wide.

“If you’re going to watch, take it off again,” Siobhan demanded.

“Wh-What?”

“Take it off or take off.” The older girl had a poetic way with words, which presaged her becoming a well know poet and writer (I won’t tell you her pseudonym or cite examples).

Kaye stripped, no less shyly than mere minutes ago.

“MMmmm...” Siobhan purred as I nuzzled her neck while massaging scalp. “All the way.”

“Wh-What?” Poor Chipmunk. Apparently, she would get no free show.

I thought to give the youth some incentive to stay and get naked; moved so my cock rose alongside Siobhan’s scooped waist. The brunette finally grabbed it, stroking and squeezing, rubbing along undulated wet warm flesh; bent it down painfully yet thrillingly across solid ass, parting crack with it as she turned us sidewise to keep details in the other girl’s vision.

I heard Kaye gulp as if swallowing the bar of soap I’d misplaced. “I...”

Rotating Siobhan once again to face Kaye for the blonde’s viewing pleasure, I leaned back to rinse the elder girl’s dark sodden locks, letting them stream down my chest and stomach. Making sure they cleared her tits, which I squeezed and tweaked some more, I cupped them to present to the youngster. Pecking neck and throat, I held the moaning brunette up as her knees folded when I ran a hand up under her ass to tease slick cuntlips, run a finger along sodden crease, dip once or twice.

“Gah...” Siobhan uttered. “Ou-ha-AH!- _Out!_ ”

“I...” Kaye repeated, backing away. Yet, seeming to make up her mind all at once, off came shoes and socks, down came panties, away with bra; I noted that she indeed had falsies, her tits maybe an AA. Still quivering, the youngster stood there, hands fluttering here and there, as if modesty vied against not wanting to look scared or immature. Yet the entire package still met my definition of ‘damn cute’.

“Get over here under the hot water if you’re cold,” I advised.

“I...”

Siobhan laughed – cut short by a gasp and grunt as I suddenly lifted a fine ivory leg and penetrated her, my prick sliding to the hilt in one slippery thrust. “F-F-FUUU _UCK!_ ” she yelled.

“Okay.” I complied, pushing her tits up against the cold, slick wall and not bothering with a slow buildup but slamming her mercilessly, our wet flesh smacking together like machinegun fire.

I felt Kaye’s approach, tentatively touching my back, trailing lower and lower just short of my ass before her ticklish fingertips slid back up again.

“OH-OH-OH-OH!” Siobhan grunted. “Ohhhh-OHHH _HHH!_ ” When she orgasmed, I didn’t stop, though I had to hold her up as she rag-dolled; lowering her to the wet tiles, I stayed inside spasming pussy till she lay beneath me on the puddled tilework. Replacing hard dick with tongue, I plunged back in, munching stiff little clit, drawing it out even farther, slurping and nipping swollen lips as hot water streamed and splashed and I shoved two fingers inside and she came again. I held her while shudders ceased and “YEAH! FUCKFUCKFUCKFUCK...!” died in her throat.

Looking up, I nearly knocked my head on Kaye’s chin. Meeting saucer eyes, grabbed the blonde round the head to implant a deep kiss upon slack mouth; I hoped enough of the brunette’s juices remained for her to taste. Chipmunk didn’t react for a second or two, then pulled away, wiping distended lips. Uttered, “NO!” And again, “No,” backing off farther, picking up clothes.

Shrugging, yet not turning grin from the blonde, I jacked off instead over supine Siobhan; Kaye’s retreat stalled at the entrance, thin white neck twisting to stare till I grunted and shot an extra load on the bigger girl’s tits and belly. Though quickly washed away, Siobhan moaned approval, trying to catch the last shots and licking remnant from palms as she writhed on the tile floor, wrapping legs around me. When I looked up again, Chipmunk was gone.

I let her go, feeling confident we’d ‘meet’ again.

A day or so later, since Paul and Gord had no interest in scoping girls, and Skye and I were the ones needing revenge anyway, we two sneaked down the shadowed hallways, through the showers to the girls’ wing. He wore the gorilla mask – and his bulk made a rather fearsome monster in the dark. (Recall there were four guys, two to a room, and 16 girls, in dorms intended for two dozen or more, so I suppose they kept the hall lights mostly off to save money and energy; the world having just come out of arguably the first ‘energy crisis’.)

Listening at various closed doors, we tried to gauge which held the most females in order that we might make the widest impression. Choosing one with a lot of chatter behind it, I knocked and stepped back. When it opened, Skye lunged his head though and roared. The screams were exquisitely satisfying, though I doubt Skye could hear so well when the door slammed on his head. Unheroically, I didn’t linger to see to my injured comrade, fleeing back through the showers to our room. When he caught up, he denied getting his head squashed, but perhaps it was just that thick and he didn’t notice. For certain he didn’t look hurt or to be bleeding.

Anyway, as we awaited the uproar, we felt a bit disappointed and so started to make our way back to see what was up. Approaching the showers, we heard a horde of crying females: voices, including their chaperone’s, asking stuff like, “Which way...?” and “What was it?” But not much else; the incident wasn’t brought up again, and I couldn’t decide if I felt more disappointed or relieved. I suppose we got our vengeance, albeit I hope on at least one of the ‘right’ girls; for, neither did we ever find out whom had answered the door (Skye hadn’t gotten a clear look). And, other than Bonnie, Siobhan, and Kaye, I wasn’t sure who else had tried to ‘raid’ us.

Then again, perhaps we had only escalated hostilities.

No doubt they figured out who had scared them; a day or so later, me and Skye were innocently walking back to our dorm through the interior courtyard when we were the targets of a vicious assault: From higher windows, sodden toilet paper wads and condom water-balloons pelted us. Even Gord and Paul were in on it, obviously having decided they were girls. I only know this because, while we were busy ducking and running, later one of them (Gord, I think) chortled about having gotten me good – which I denied at the time, of course, but can admit now that, yes, I got a wad of tp upside the head that plugged my ear for nearly the rest of the trip.

On the way back to Paris we stopped at Avranches and the abbey of Mont Saint-Michel, as well as Arromanches and the D-Day museum, Juno Beach, and the Canadian WWII cemetery at Bény-sur-Mer (one of the most profound experiences of my life, but not a story for here).

A single overnight at a youth hostel in Caen didn’t allow for much shenanigans, except that I started going out with Carla and Carly. No, they weren’t twins; sisters, though, and my first experience with two of that age simultaneously. I can’t recall now as to the elder; let’s say Carly, at 16, Carla, 15. It didn’t matter, and they certainly looked like twins: Almost identical moderate height, weight; medium-length brown ‘Marcia Brady’ hair; green eyes, one’s _maybe_ paler than the other’s, though perhaps only in a certain light; obviously dressed alike. Damned erotic ‘twin schoolgirl’ look, though, for sure!

Carly (I think) has an appendectomy scar – which I would only discover after we moved on to Paris.


	36. French Kisses Pt 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> See _Only Sitter in Town Pts 1-21_ , _High School Sweethearts Pts 1 & 2_, _Sister Summers Pts 1-9_ and _French Kisses Pts 1-3_ for setup. I carry on with my invasion of France, racking up ‘points’ and doing my best to deal with an outbreak of virginity.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TAGS: Defloration; groping; cuddling; m/f/f; m/f; all participants are fictional or of age to be involved in consensual sexual activity.

Though we stayed in a new lycée in _La Ville-Lumière_ , The City of Light, the arrangement remained the same.

During one of our first days in Paris I took a photo of the _Jardins du Trocadéro_ from the top of the Eiffel Tower across the River Seine. Afterward, Carly and Carla (C&C) clinging either side of me, most of the rest of our group following, we rode the Metro and walked a bit upriver to the _Pont Neuf_ – New Bridge, actually the oldest in Paris – and visited Notre Dame de Paris on the _Isle de la Cité_. Crossing the river, we ambled back along the _Rive Droit_ , Right Bank, to tour the Louvre and then promenade through the _Jardin des Tuileries_. There, I bought some French fries from an outdoor vendor – _pommes de terre frites_ in the Quebecois French we learned, but simply ‘frites’ in France – to share with my new girlfriends. Though the French (all Europe, turns out) have the disgusting habit of putting mayonnaise on their fries, fortunately they cater to tourists with ketchup – once they finally deigned to understand my ‘corrupt’ French.

In any case, damned if we didn’t meet another group of English- or American-looking teen girls in tight white school sweaters (jumpers), one of whom, a brunette resembling Siobhan, detoured to give me a wink and swipe a frite. Stopping almost in my tracks, C&C dragged me away, though not before I could watch the babe’s departing ass swing away under black skirt.

 _Damn!_ I wanted to follow, but... well, I had my hands full...

“Who the hell...”

“Was that?” the sisters demanded.

Protesting my innocence, I don’t think they believed me. One bit my earlobe, the other pinched my arm. “OW!” I suddenly had more to prove to the sisters. “You’ll pay for that,” I promised as they munched the last of my fries; I maybe got one or two of the lot.

“How...”

“Will you do that?”

Looking from nearly identical pairs of raised pencilled brows, I asked them to ride the Metro with me (cheap then: ten tickets – _un carnet_ – cost a few francs, or $1.50-ish).

Checking out all the naked statues in parks and castle grounds, likewise including paintings in the Louvre, and even drinking wine with virtually every meal, the general attitude of relaxed sensuality and ‘grownup-ness’ in a foreign country seemed to stimulate all of us and loosen inhibitions along with flies, ties, buttons, and so on. Finding a mostly empty car in the Metro to make out, I scouted confines of skirt and bra to feel a pair of small boobs and finger fuzzy-slick cunny while cupping head, stroking and nibbling ears and French kissing (naturally!) the other sister. Changing up, I moaned softly along with the girls as they groped my chest, cock... albeit outside clothes. They had no problem sharing, complementing each other on region, pressure, daringness... We got a few raised eyebrows and smiles from other passengers, but no one seemed perturbed. Nonetheless, still too uncertain about getting busted for lewdness, I made do with staying mostly clothed and getting to second base with both, for now.

My two-run homer came in the seventh inning of our trip, leaving me still down eight runs; meaning I achieved my goal with four of twelve chicks (sorry about ‘chicks’ as well as ‘babe’, above; common epithets then, like ‘dude’, and not thought disparaging).

Our night at the opera ensued; we went to _Moïse et les dix commandements_ : “Moses and the Ten Commandments”. Arriving late – which is frowned upon by high society, and they didn’t want to let us in – we finally made our way to our designated boxes. C&C and I got one to ourselves (I recall a few of our group didn’t want to go, thinking it ‘square’, thereby leaving more room). Unfortunately at first, our seats blew, since only the two in front had a decent view. C&C switched with each other a while in, but when a certain scene came up and Carly (I think) gasped in shock, I let Carla (I think) take my place. Both girls could now see the ritual occurring live: the Israelites worshipping the Golden Calf. Actors and actresses all pranced about in transparent gauze or less, one woman carried around sitting cross-legged, arms upraised, on a small platform. Despite being rather a long way off, shaved pussies were everywhere in evidence. I’m not sure of the scene’s historically accuracy, but it reminded me of—

“ _Moïse descend de la montagne!”_ one of the players shouted, which I understood as, ‘Shit! Moses is coming!’

“What do you think?” I whispered, leaning in between the pair so I could watch too.

Both started at my sudden appearance at their ears but didn’t answer. I wished I could see their expressions more clearly, though I suppose it didn’t matter. The nude scene soon over, the boring parts resumed; while I knew about Moses, the entire story was unfamiliar at the time, and since we entered late and I didn’t comprehend most of the French-language show anyway, I never picked up the thread. But it was all good.

C whispered something to C; one of them got up – purportedly to the bathroom, but now I’m sure she went to check the security of the door to our box, for she immediately returned to find C and I necking. We drew the curtains across the front, moving back into the darkened interior to continue groping and exploring. And fucking.

I found it an exquisite pleasure to not be able to tell one sister from the other. Even though I found the scar by feel in the dim light, and enquired about it, receiving the murmured name of its bearer, other than direct contact with it there was no distinguishing the siblings in near-total darkness. Somewhat awkwardly on the unyielding carpet between seats, I deflowered the pair; they confessed to me later they’d always wanted to ‘lose it’ together, and didn’t know – nor care – whom I’d ‘done’ first, so I felt very gratified to be chosen. They’d even brought a condom, intending it for use in both – ill advised, of course, but they shared everything and didn’t know. Happily, I came armed and packing...

We had to scramble back into clothes as the show ended and lights came up, otherwise I could have gladly stayed there all night with them. However, it seemed the sisters believed that this might be all I was good for, because they faded without fuss from the scene as others took their cues. Yet, I didn’t feel bad – really!

I think Sue came next (pun intended). I would be reminded of her diminutive tight ass a few years later in the Armed Forces, when I met her namesake and—

Excuse me. Sue the First, yes...

What was with clingy broads on that trip? Why am, I asking you?

Tiny Sue, 15, of the black bob and far-too-big-for-her-body tits, released me long enough to separately wander an arcade in the Montmartre district (location of the infamous Moulin Rouge, from which we were disappointingly barred) that had quite different features than what I was used to back home. For one thing, I understood the signs inside and outside, reading, _Interdit au moins de dix-huit ans_ , that is, ‘Forbidden to Under-18s’. Ignoring them, the reason soon became apparent: Aside from normal Pong, foosball, and pinball machines, it had peepshows. I’d seen and done more explicit stuff but had a thought to further entice my newest girlfriend. So, when I felt a hand on my shoulder, I ignored it, muttering, “Wait a sec. I’ll let you look in a bit.”

The hand, rather heavy for a slip-of-a-girl, didn’t leave. Turning from the flicker of a 1920s-ish black-and-white striptease, my heart dropped through my black patent leathers: a _gendarme_ (cop), and very tall one! Through a string of French, I gathered that he wanted to know my age, but I feigned ignorance.

“ _Papiers, papiers_ ,” he insisted.

“Ah,” I essayed, “ _passeport_?” Fishing it out of my blazer, handed it over.

He _tched_ and pointed, doubtless to my age, then to the sign. Again I pretended to not understand, but ‘caught on’ that he wanted me to leave. Feeling fortunate not to be on my way to jail, I asked if I could find _mon amie_ first; accepting my passport back, I found Sue and hustled the perplexed girl outside, indicating the gendarme – who now harangued the proprietor, doubtless for failing to chase us out himself.

Chuckling and giggling nervously, we hurried along the street till we found ourselves in another part of the _arrondissement_ where myriad sketch artists could whip out a portrait or caricature of you in a minute or two. Naturally, one isn’t obliged to buy, but I thought the one of Sue was so cute (and sexy!) that I got it for her, haggling the guy down to about eight or ten francs ($2-$2.50) after  pretending to walk away from his last, outrageous counter-offer of something like $10. I think I made some more points, as the girl settled into me such that, not even up to my shoulder, she pressed her cheek into my upper arm. My dick felt twitchy again...

We wandered a bit, looking into shop windows and snuggling, ending up in notorious red-light district _Place Pigalle_ (Pig Alley, so named by American soldiers in WWII). In one I noticed the reflection of a woman standing behind us; turned to espy something more shocking than the cop: A tall drag queen; middle-aged, haggard, sporting a prominent Adam’s apple and makeup caked like a Paris street mime. Whatever she said I took as a proposition, declining with a polite, “ _Non, merci_ ,” and dragged Sue away. My girl seemed to have lost coordination, kept stumbling along, staring back as we crossed the street, scurried up the sidewalk.

“Was that... a _guy_?” she demanded.

I sniggered, trying to sound worldly. “I think so.”

“What did he _say_?”

I interpreted liberally: “He asked if I wanted a blowjob. Or if we wanted him to join us.”

Sue gasped. “No way!”

“Yes way,” I lied. “You don’t like the idea?”

“ICK!”

I couldn’t help but wordlessly agree at the time, well ahead of my PC understanding of cross-dressers and t‑girls and so on, plus my consternation at her (I know now that most prefer feminine pronouns) supposed elderly status and lack of cosmetics skills. “Oh well. Maybe next time.”

Sue stopped to punch my arm – hard for a small girl. “You’re not serious!”

It was getting sore. “OW!” I rubbed it, then captured her arms to pull her back next to me, a tactic of close defence. “What if I was?”

“You... You want an old man to suck you _off_? Dressed as a woman? A _whore_? I thought you were straight! Bonnie and Siobh—I _mean_...”

I felt the heat of her blush without looking down as we set off up the street once more. Snickered, teased, “What _did_ you mean?”

“N-Nothing. Can we go hom—err... back to the hostel?”

“Uhh... sure.” I hoped I hadn’t upset her; felt reassured when, still clinging, she nodded off virtually in my lap on the Metro.


End file.
